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Following a series of dud dalliances in my 30s and 40s, and finding myself closer to 50 and single, it recently dawned on me that to meet someone, I’d need to be more proactive.Because I’d be delighted to meet a nice fella, someone to go on adventures with, to cook dinner with, someone whose day’s details I’d want to hear about, just as they’d be keen to know about my triumphs and disappointments.And my day – even if I’d found a cure for cancer and been to the moon – none of that would warrant a footnote.Clearly it was time to take the bull by the horns, metaphorically speaking, at least.And if the outcome of a rugby game deeply affected his mood, he definitely wasn’t for me.She laughed nervously and said she’d never heard that before.
The message said: “Mark meet Nancy, Nancy meet Mark” (not our real names), and that was all. This fellow also made it clear he’d had a good Google of me, which is kind of creepy. Another man was almost my kind of guy, aside from having lopped the better part of a decade off his age.
Even if that is what people do these days, shouldn’t he have kept that to himself? Slowly, over a number of weeks, his age crept up to the point where he was eligible for superannuation.
Plus he would share every single detail of his day with me – it’s true, I do ask lots of questions – but when it came time for reciprocation, when any normal person would say, “And you?
As we prepared to leave, she said she’d never met a person like me before. I didn’t know whether to be flattered or concerned.
Driving home, I began to feel less confident about the matchmaking endeavour.
To assist my romantic endeavours, a few friends have tried to help.