Quest for Love

“I won’t even look for a mate until my house is clean,” my friend announces when I ask her about her dating life.  I don’t have the heart to tell her, but my friend, who diagnosed herself a hoarder after watching that “Hoarders” show on A&E, will never pair up if she has to make room for him first.

This is the year. 

This is the year I’ll bring him home for Christmas. 

This is the year I’ll walk through cobblestone streets shopping with him, a light snow falling (but not flattening my hair) while I warm my hand in his coat pocket and we feed each other roasted chestnuts, stopping afterward to share a hot chocolate. 

Sheryl Crow said love is free, but I’m starting to wonder.  This email from Match.com appeared in my inbox today: “Love is on sale: save 25% this fall!” Then there was my recent run-in with a singles group we’ll call “Happenings & Activities” for purposes of this story.

I looked up the word “solo” today on Thesaurus.com, not because I’m obsessed with my singlehood, but because I was searching for a column title about my solo law practice for a legal newsletter. The results, nonetheless, beg to be shared with all of singlekind. 

I’m not ashamed to admit I’m a card-carrying member of Match.com. Dating’s tough, my friends, and you might as well explore all your options. But I’ve been on these dating websites so long that lately the online dating profiles are starting to sound like a broken record. Like digging through a table of sweaters at a garage sale and finding every sweater the same old same old — beige with a hole in the armpit. Here’s my (annotated) version of the typical profile I’m finding on the online-dating shelves these days:

It’s August. Get out the party favors. It’s time for my annual exam.

I’m so excited. The Facebook quiz writers — those anonymous crystal-ball gazers of the digital age — are about to reveal the name of the man I will marry. No more trying on Toms, Dicks and Harrys of all shapes and sizes. Now I’ll be able to focus on Tom. Or Dick. Or Harry.

Forget such pointless activities as dancing around maypoles. Growing up, this North Dakota girl celebrated May 1 by going after my boy. The tradition on May Day was to wrap a pile of sweets in a napkin tied with yarn, leave the package of goodies outside the crush’s door, knock and … run! If all went as planned, the crush would open his door, discover the treats, catch the girl and … mmmmm … kiss her.

We singles shy away from singles events. For one thing, singles who tend to frequent singles events aren’t passably normal singles, but rather those with Martian ancestry or Master’s degrees in Vulcan. For another, we singles prefer the subtle approach to luring a mate, say, by knocking the books out of his arms at the library ... or asking him whether he prefers pulp or no-pulp orange juice at the grocery store. Mere attendance at the singles event screams: “I AM SINGLE AND LOOKING FOR SOMEBODY TO LOVE!

Everyone says that if you want to meet Mr. Right, you should stop looking. Immerse yourself in your own hobbies, and he’ll find you.