The Egg-on-My-Face Series -- Installment 1

OK.

I've spent the first several posts bashing women, the women I've dated, the women I've been married to (well, that would be "woman" in the singular), and when all else failed, women in general. I'm perfect. Right?

I wish.

This will be the first in a series I'll call "Egg on My Face." Situations that went badly through no fault of anyone but my own. I start with my personal favorite.

I look at online dating sites like bars. Back when I used to frequent the latter, I learned one rule. All bars are not created equal. Some are better for drinking, some are better for watching sports, and some are better for meeting the opposite sex. Even the pick-up bars all vary from bar-to-bar.

And so it goes with online dating sites.

After a few months, I got bored with Match. So I decided to go fishing . . . on Plenty of Fish, known to us single folk as POF. A free site, POF is known mostly as a site for blue-collar, high-school educated people. I haven't found this to be true. But it is the stereotype for POF.

As you may have gathered, I had not shortage of dates on Match. They may not have been good dates and they may not have gotten past the first date, but the dates were plentiful. Not so much with POF. I heard nothing. I sent emails, winks, and other forms of flirtation and received back not so much as a smile.

Due to the stereotype, I assumed that I must be too educated, too sophisticated for the POF girls. I labored under this delusion for a solid 30 days before someone finally contacted me, or at least responded to my email.

GiGi works for a large publishing company in the Frozen Tundra. I worked at that company's major competitor for 16 years. GiGi is an attorney. So I am. GiGi is a bookish egg-head. So am I. I couldn't pass up the opportunity to flirt with her, especially since I've had a thing for Dana Perino, and GiGi looks just like Dana.

GiGi responded, and we started chatting. A good 35-50 emails later GiGi stops the conversation.

"Do you mind if I ask you a question?"

"Sure. What's up?"

"Are you really five feet tall?"

A look of horror overcomes me. The apple in my throat drops to the pit of my stomach. I plunge my face deep into both hands in embarrassment and humiliation. Having worked in IT related gigs for 10 years, I knew exactly what had happened. Before answering her email, I bolt out to my POF profile, and OMG, it was true. I had chosen 5-0 as my height. Not 6-0. 5-0. And no full body shots to suggest otherwise.

Wow.

What an F-up I am.

I quickly changed the drop down to the correct selection, and, lo and behold, people started talking to me. It didn't hurt that my profile was now accompanied by a full body shot.

The best part of the story?

GiGi and I are still talking. We like to compare our relationship to Harry and Sally.

Hmmm.

Yes, I find this fascinating, too.