“I took one look at her at the table and thought, how am I going to get through the next couple of hours?” said Steve the surfer, describing a recent dating experience.
I have been dating online and off line, off and on, for… well, quite a few years. I realized I’ve become a trained athlete, and here I was showing the ropes to a rookie.
Steve lives in Laguna Beach and works in money management at a large financial institution. A mutual friend thought we should know each other and introduced us via email. He’s divorced, with three grown kids and just recently started online dating. “How many online dates have you been on?” I asked. “She was my first,” he replied. Steve had fallen hook, line and sinker for all the online dating traps.
Never schedule a dinner when you’re meeting someone for the first time. It’s hard to wallow in benign conversation, when you know in the first two minutes there is no chance you will be lingering over dessert. A quick coffee or cocktail is much safer.
“She looked great in her pictures,” Steve continued. “She said she was forty and she had a rocking body.”
Of course she did. Rookie mistake. A seasoned veteran would be going over the photos like David Caruso looking for a DNA sample in shag carpeting. Does the clothing style look recent or is it reminiscent of styles popular during the Clinton administration? Does the hair look like it needs a building permit? And are there any close-up shots that are in focus? Have the pics been photoshopped?
Generally speaking, the older a person gets, the less current their photos are, and the more likelihood there is of them grasping onto a memory in time they no longer resemble.
“Of course she looks great in her photos. The online competition is stiff,” I explained. “To receive emails from attractive, successful men, you have to stand out in a crowd. Some women — and men — post a stunning photo from long ago as their profile picture. That gets your attention. The whole game is to book the date.” Once you click on their other photos, you have to examine them with a discerning eye. The more you hone your skills, the less likely you will be duped.
Steve was beside himself. “That’s exactly what happened. She was at least ten years older and she would not be squeezing that body into a bikini anytime soon,” he complained.
“Well, I guess I can’t ask you out to dinner,” said Steve, “But how about lunch?”
I pulled up to the valet at the Napa Valley Grill in Westwood, got out of my car and walked to the front door, remembering why I never wore these particular shoes. The straps kept falling under my heels, so that walking normally becomes an effort. I hobbled in the entrance, fixed my shoes and checked in with the hostess, who pointed Steve out in the bar. He’d already spotted me and clearly witnessed my ‘shoescapade.’ Talk about your graceful entrances.
Steve looked exactly like his picture. He is tall and, like most dedicated surfers, lean, slightly tan, with thinning blonde hair, a spark in his blue eyes and a good-natured smile on his face. The hostess seated us at our table.
I asked him if he had been on any more dates since our first talk. He groaned. “I almost canceled our lunch because I had another horrible date,” he explained. “I didn’t listen to your advice and asked her out to dinner.” He had made reservations at Splashes, a romantic restaurant at the Surf ‘n’ Sand Hotel on the beach in Laguna.
“I got there and walked through the bar and restaurant but didn’t see her,” he said. “I went to the host and asked if anyone was waiting. He points and says, ‘just that woman over there’.”
Steve looked over and saw a woman waving at him. Smiling through clenched teeth, he turned back to the host, “Oh no, that couldn’t possibly be her. The woman I’m meeting said she was a supermodel.” “They all do,” said the host, gathering up a couple of menus. Steve noted how far away the exit door was, and pondered the possibility of bolting. “Too late,” he thought. “I knew I had to grin and bear it.”
“Don’t you recognize me?” she asked Steve, as he sat down at her table.
“She looked nothing like her pictures. She said she was forty-five, but she was easily fifty-five.” He continued talking with gestures, “She had way too much plastic surgery, with her lips out to here and her eyebrows up to here, that I didn’t even know where to look.” He kept wondering if he should say something to her about how she misrepresented herself. “She was all touchy feely too,” he explained. “She kept rubbing my hands and arms and asking me how I was doing. I finally just decided to let it go. We had dinner, I paid the check and couldn’t get out of there fast enough.”
We laughed about how different men and women are: men are on their best behavior until they sleep with a woman; women are on their best behavior until they get married– at which point, they believe they can change the guy who has been being himself since the first time they slept together. We also talked about how to know when a relationship is past the point of no return–when you realize that trying to repair it is just going to do further damage to you both.
The conversation with Steve was easy. He’s a funny and smart guy and could get along with anyone and fit in anywhere. We left the restaurant and stood on the sidewalk outside, “I don’t know how to do this, but would you like to get together again?” ”Sure,” I replied. We hugged each other goodbye and then walked in opposite directions to our cars.
I don’t suspect I will be hearing from Steve anytime soon. He’s too new to the game, still meeting the players and learning the field.
