how very lucky to be a girl

I’ve never been a big believer in making the first contact with men online.

A friend once told me a story.  She’d said that a man could spend days in the cold outdoors tracking a wild boar.  When at long last he returned with his kill, he would feel a sense of accomplishment and extreme pride.  The boar would feed the village with him to thank, and its tusks would remain on display in his home as a trophy.  Now, I could get up at 4 am, track and hunt that same boar in seconds flat, and leave it dressed and ready for cooking on his doorstep, along with a perfectly polished tusk trophy for his keeping, waiting for him to wake that same morning, and he’d want absolutely nothing to do with it.

It’s the thrill of the chase.  And when I pursue him, I rob him of his nature.  The chase.

This isn’t to say I haven’t initiated contact with men before.  In fact, I have.  With so many people’s profiles on line, when I see someone that interests me, I have no way of knowing whether or not they’d ever come across my profile.  I am a digital needle in a virtual haystack, and so sometimes, I write these men, as I did with Funny_Bone.  And as with Funny_Bone, it never went anywhere.  The initial effort had been mine, and it was never reciprocated with any ardency, but rather with the lagging steps of a reluctant child required to walk the dog every morning in order to get his allowance.

That didn’t necessarily stop me entirely from contacting men first.  I recognize that there is an exception to every rule.  But rules of nature, like stereotypes and clichés, exist precisely because they exist.  And so I know, when I hit enter and send my words into the ether, that more likely than not, I won’t hear back.

But when I saw his profile, I couldn’t resist.  It was pithy and expressive.  Quirky.  Funny.  It showed kindness and compassion.  It seemed as though he cared about something bigger than himself but didn’t at all take himself seriously.  His interests matched my own.  Eerily so.  We were a 97% match, 96% friends, and 2% enemies on OK Cupid.  I won’t say I pay a lot of credence to those stats on the site, but I will say that it was designed by freaking Harvard mathematicians, so sometimes I think maybe I should.  I’ve never met anyone with whom I had stats in the 90th percentile on OK Cupid, and I’ve not seen most of them again.

I peruse the question section from which this compatibility algorithm is drawn.  We’d both answered over 300 questions.  And we’d answered 97% of them alike.  As I read through our matched answers, I become giddy with excitement.  We’d even answered the sillier questions alike.  When birds stand on power lines and don’t get hurt, it’s most likely because of: They do get hurt, they just express it poorly.  What is your quest: To find the grail. He’d added that it was being guarded by blood thirsty rabbits (points for liking Monty Python).  His responses to the more serious questions excited me equally.  He seemed to be an open-minded, artistic, informed, tolerant, free-thinking, smart man of my dreams.  Yes, I know it’s only words on the page.  I am reminded of the cow farmer, and although I know it’s a profile and not a person, I feel a connection.  Or at least I want there to be one.  He is shorter than I like.  But his warm eyes, beautiful smile and jawline like Superman make my pupils dilate.  I look through his photographs.  One makes me laugh.  He is wearing a fake mustache.  I have to write him.

can I borrow that mustache of yours? i think it would make a splendid profile photo for me as well. alright, maybe a little less than splendid.

liked your profile. and also your taste in music. books too, most particularly delillo and miller.

hope you’re still enjoying the tail end of the holiday weekend. i just got home from florida and was checking e-mails when your profile popped up on the home page. thought i’d write and say hi before racing outside to enjoy the rest of this beautiful day.

so, i’m off to do that…
staci

Two days later, there had been no response.  I was disappointed.  C’est la vie.  Such is dating on the interweb.

Then, on the third day…

hi staci,
thanks for writing…of course you can borrow the mustache. it’s easily transferable…Honestly though, I think it looks better on me. I added it to one of your pics, but OKC wants me to upgrade to be able to send you the pic…oh well. Anyway, liked your profile too, but I gotta say I’m hopping off OKC for a while after proving myself not altogether ready for what this is all about…c’est la guerre, eh? if you want that mustached pic of yourself, send me a non-OKC email address and I’ll get it to you…its kinda funny. Cheers, Superman

My heart sank.  But I wasn’t giving up just yet.  After all, he’d asked for my e-mail.

What a sad tease to think this is the beginning and the end of having a personal photoshop artist to indulge my hirsute fantasies! The good news is that I don’t really have any hirsute fantasies. Or my own mustache.

Of course I would love to see your creation. I love a good laugh, often at my expense You can e-mail it to me at gmail dot com.

Seriously, though, I hope you soon find yourself in the space where this is not at all war, but part of a strange and beautiful journey toward whatever connectedness you seek.

Sometimes I question my own readiness here, but am quickly reminded that few things have prepared me better for my experiences than those experiences themselves.

Anyway, if your circumstances should happen to change and you’re interested in meeting new (and self-proclaimed awesome) people, I hope you’ll reach out to me…perhaps our luck will have it that I won’t have already been snapped up by someone looking for a mustached lady…
xxoo
staci

He was quick to write back this time.

thanks staci. thanks for the understanding…and for the reminder that this should be a fun part of the journey…I’ll get there eventually, maybe after some new vegetation grows in these bomb-craters left over from a still too recent battle scene…meanwhile, I’m really just looking and practicing and making sure all my limbs and faculties still work…when i’m ready for more I’ll look you up and see where you’re at…
and check your real email for your mustache…its funny.
best,
Superman

I don’t know what to make of this.  He is “looking and practicing and making sure his limbs and faculties still work”, but not with me?  I am unable to discern if this is nothing more than a gentle rejection, or if he genuinely would contact me when he’s finished licking his wounds.  I suppose it doesn’t much matter either way.  The reality is the same.  We will not meet.

My Gmail tab flashes the number 1.  I’ve got new mail.  And there, in my inbox was a great work of photoshop.  An hilarious image of me with a mustache, and a sweet note.

i could have done a better job, especially around the nose…but your pretty smile and sparkly eyes still come through…

He thinks I’m pretty.  He took the time to create this photo, and bothered to send it.  I feel sad.  Like I’ve lost something.  Something I never had.  I hope he returns to meet one day.

.