Cantankerously Yours
Laments of a Senior Stud Wannabe
By Wendell Abern
Dear Internet Investigators,
I have several friends who have signed up on Internet dating sites, and I confess to a growing curiosity as to how these work.
I call my kids in Chicago to tell them I am about to browse around a couple of popular websites.
My daughter Beth: “Oh no! Whatever you do, don’t tell them you have kids! Last time you went into cyberspace, I received e-mails for six months from fourteen different chocolatiers!”
My son Steven: “Oh, Lord.”
My kids never take me seriously. I plow ahead.
I check out a site called plentyoffish.com. I scan for a while and fill out a form that asks me to describe myself. I write a pithy and, I think, intriguing description, and e-mail it to Beth to see what she thinks. She phones me two minutes later.
“DA-ad!”
We all know we are in disfavor with our offspring when they make a two-syllable word out of “mom” or “dad.” I call it, “Denouncing While Pronouncing.”
“What?”
“Dad, you can’t do this! You are five foot five, 77 years old and exist on Social Security! You can’t say you’re a 53-year old millionaire who is six-foot four!”
“Why? Who will know? Do they have someone who monitors the descriptions? Do I need approvals?”
“The woman you meet will know! As soon as she sees you, she’ll walk out on you!”
“Good. Then I’ll know she doesn’t have a sense of humor.”
“DA-ad!”
“Okay, okay.”
I take a break and eat a salami sandwich. Since I know I’ll also be sending my next effort to my daughter, I eat two salami sandwiches.
I go back to my computer and find a site called “Dating for Seniors.” They ask for a picture of myself. I balk, on grounds of computer ineptitude: I’ve never been able to figure out how to scan pictures into websites. I type what I believe is a suitable explanation and e-mail it to Beth. She calls two minutes after she arrives home.
“DA-ad!”
“Now what?”
“In the first place you should include a photo of yourself. If you don’t know how to scan it in, get help from a friend. And In the second place, if you don’t include a picture, you can’t say your photo might cause confusion because you are frequently mistaken for George Clooney!”
“Should I have put Johnny Depp?”
“DA-ad!”
Back to “Dating for Seniors” again. I notice a section I’d overlooked earlier: “Search our senior membership by category.” Women are listed as
“Senior girls,” “Senior chicks,” “Senior babes,” and other oxymoronic descriptions.
I look over the categories for men, find one that describes me perfectly and e-mail it to Beth.
She calls two minutes later. From work.
“DA-a-ad!”
Three syllables. Bad omen.
“This confirms it. Now I know for sure I was adopted. I’m going in for DNA testing tomorrow.”
“Now what?”
“First of all, you cannot call yourself a ‘Senior stud!’”
“Why not? If a woman can call herself a ‘Senior girl,’ why can’t I call myself a ‘Senior stud?’”
“Okay, I’ll give you that. But you cannot say you were the inspiration for the country and western hit, ‘I May Be a Real Good man, but I Am Also a Real Bad Boy!’”
“Why not?”
“Because you weren’t, Sam Stud! And those cannot be your genes I’m walking around with! DNA testing. Tomorrow.”
I’ve had enough of Bossy Beth, and decide to bounce my next effort off my son. First thing the next morning, I go back to “Dating for Seniors,” read a bit, then take a different tack: rather than write about myself, I write what I am looking for in a companion, and e-mail it to Steven. He calls one minute later.”
“DA-ad!
Another one.
“What?” I ask wearily.
“What? What! You write, ‘I am looking for an attractive woman who is interested in a meaningless relationship,’ and you ask me, ‘What?’”
“I was going to add that I want to unleash her inner slut.”
“DA-ad!”
“But I would like to meet such a woman!”
“Listen, Stud” (evidence that Beth and Steven have been talking about me, no doubt disparagingly) … if you met such a woman, the first thing you’d ask her is if she plays bridge.”
My kids know me too well.
Another visit to Dating for Seniors.
All of the profiles begin with a headline. The site posts examples from a few guys: “Is that Special Lady Out There?” “Handsome and Classy,” and “Loving, Athletic and Passionate.”
Headlines! Piece of cake! Been doing that my whole life!
I sit down, decide on the best way to present myself with a provocative headline, and e-mail the effort to my son. Steven phones me two minutes later.
“Okay, who are you and what have you done with my father?”
“Why do I anticipate a lecture?” I ask.
“You can’t do this, dad!”
“What? I’m marketing myself. I thought, I’m more upbeat and content than most guys my age, and I know I have more hair than guys my age, so I thought I’d lead with that.”
“So lead with it! But not with a headline that says, ‘Happy, Hairy and Horny!’ They won’t post it on the site, and if they do, I will never admit to being your son.”
Wonderful. Raise a few kids and they turn out to be critics.
The next morning, I receive a surprise. Even though I have not actually joined any of the dating services, I had browsed through several and registered my name. That was enough, I guess, to receive profiles.
From fourteen different women.
Including “Funloving Intellect” from Canton, Ohio, and “Sugarplums” from Wellington, New Zealand.
Enough. So I’m not a senior stud. I’ll take my chances without internet dating, white lies and reprimands from my progeny.
That night, I settle in with a book by one of my favorite authors. I am just turning the first page, when Steven calls me. He has been talking to Beth. They have an appointment with some lab tomorrow for DNA testing.
Cantankerously Yours,
Wendell Abern
Wendell Abern can be reached at [email protected].