I fucking hate the gym.
Why would I suggest such a thing to Becky? Am I out of my ever-loving mind?
Ugh.
I hate myself right now. But I hate my flabby arms even more.
I pop a veggie chip into my mouth and prop my feet up on the kitchen chair across from me, scrolling through the workout tank tops with built-in bras and iPod pouches online, and choose a plain aqua-blue one in medium. I add it to my order, and then add a black one to my cart for Becky, because I’m a good friend like that. Not to mention, if I know Becky, and I think I do, she’s going to show up to the gym for our first workout clad in a giant tee shirt from her husband’s closet, and complain the entire time about feeling frumpy and dumpy.
And by complain, I mean whine non-stop.
The last thing I want to listen to while I’m on the treadmill is her bitching. I can hear her now: “Remind me again why we’re doing this? Can’t we go get a coffee instead? It will be my treat! I’m tired, I was up all night reading. That guy is staring at my flab; it’s making me feel fat. I wonder how Sophie is doing in the daycare—maybe I should go check on her…”
So, not only do I add the black tank top for her so she has no excuses, but I add a pair of black bootcut yoga pants in her size as well. Then, before I forget, I shoot Becky a quick text while I’m thinking about it, reminding her about tennis shoes.
Scrolling to my shopping cart, I check out—add expedited shipping for a zillion extra dollars—and minimize the window. Reaching for my glass of ice water, I take a large gulp before clicking open the next search engine: eSoulMates.com
Logging in, I sit back in my chair and am pleasantly surprised to see I have eleven winks and at least seven actual messages. The winks are a nice ego boost, but I’d rather disregard them in favor of the email messages from actual paying subscribers. My theory is, paying shows more of a commitment. And I’m looking for someone who is ready to be committed to this endeavor.
My finger hovers over each subject line, and I scan them all. Who’s it gonna be…? Who is the lucky guy about to receive a message from little ol’ moi…?
I scan the first one, from a guy with the handle MustLoveHunting, and wonder why the hell the guy isn’t trolling FarmersMatch.com instead of this one. I mean, the guy clearly didn’t read my profile, as his interests include possum hunting, long walks through the cornfield, and spending the weekends with his mother. Oh, and taxidermy.
Delete.
The second and third ones get axed, too. Both gentlemen start their salutations with wise cracks about Scrabble, which is incredibly irritating for some reason. Yes, in my profile I did confess to cheating at board games and enjoying a good game of Monopoly. However, using that as a pick-up line? How unoriginal.
So not into it.
Delete. Delete.
I sigh, take another chug of water, and eye up my wine rack on the kitchen counter. Shoot, maybe I should rethink this water and pour myself a glass. Drinking alcohol might make this debacle more tolerable.
The fourth email is from HandyMan96, and my eyebrows shoot up into my hairline when I skim his message:
Hey, gorgeous. My hobbies include board games, strip poker being a favorite. I love being outdoors, riding my motorcycle to Michigan for the Sturgis MC Rally, and having a sexy woman like yourself wrapping her legs around me on the back of my hog. Nothing gets me harder than going down on a woman and sucking on freshly painted toes.
Holy. Mother. Of. What?
First of all—ew. He did not just say he loved going down on women in an email. What the hell is wrong with men? Seriously, what the hell is wrong with this guy! Gross! I give a little shiver, feeling a tad violated. My cheeks flame up and I blush, reading and rereading the email one more time, committing it to memory so I can recant it to Becky, before highlighting it and sending it straight to the cyber trashcan.
Delete. And good riddance.
At this point, I’m losing hope in the male species—and it’s only been four emails!
Clicking open number five, a slow, pleased smile bends my lips:
Greetings, NinaHas9Lives. My name is Charlie and I’m an airline pilot for a commercial carrier, and I loved your profile. Especially the part about vacationing. Obviously I love to travel and love being in the air.
I lean back in my chair, a happy flutter forming in my stomach.
I continue, my glass poised at my lips.
My hobbies include reading, hiking (my favorite spots are out West), biking, and being outdoors. I am an enthusiast of anything aviary. Bird-watching is another one of my passions.
My smile fades a little.
Do you have a favorite bird? I love the blue jay and the cardinal. I know what you’re thinking—
No. You don’t.
—but even though they’re not the most exotic species, they’re of humble Midwestern origins, making them, in my opinion, the most fascinating…
He goes on and on about fucking birds, and I force myself to finish the entire email since I’ve come this far and now feel invested. Or, in case the guy decides not to be a toolbox and sound normal, or announce that the whole email was a joke—which of course he doesn’t. Another one bites the dust.
Delete.
Email six is better, but ends up in the trash bin with the others, and I kick my flip-flops off under the table when I open the email from GreatDane51.
Hey, Nina. I’m sure you’re getting a ton of emails and winks, and I wanted to throw my hat into the circus ring. Is it just me, or are the people on this site bat-shit crazy? Please say it’s not just me. If the men are half as bad as the women, I say my chances with you responding to this note are REALLY high. More about me: As it says in my profile, I’m in sales for my family’s business. Love travel, especially Florida. Divorced. One daughter who is 6. Can’t stand smoking, people constantly on their phones, rudeness. I’d love to hear back. Question: Would you rather… go on a date to the beach OR go on a date to McDonald’s? –GreatDane51
Grinning from ear to ear, I regret that we aren’t far along enough in our communicating so I can see pictures of him—eSoulMates.com prohibits sharing pictures until you’ve developed an emotional connection—but GreatDane51 sounds promising, and for once I don’t care that I can’t see pictures.
I bite my lip and hit REPLY.
Hello, GreatDane51… I would rather go on a date to McDonald’s. I break for burgers and fries, always. Hands down, no debate. In fact, if I was in prison, I would want my last meal to be a cheeseburger. So now you know all you need to know about me. Kidding. You’re right; the people on this site are crazy. I won’t go into any details, but let me just say this—some men need a filter, because one of my messages was borderline propositioning & so disturbing. Sigh. Other than that excitement, I just joined a gym with my best friend. I’ll let you know how that goes. If I stop responding it’s because I dropped dead from the elliptical machine. Or my best friend murdered me for dragging her there in a friendly kidnapping situation. Question: Would you rather… make your date pay for your entire meal on a date OR let her split the bill? PS: From your description you sound very handsome. –NinaHas9Lives
Satisfied, I send the message and close my laptop, a smile spreading across my face when it occurs to me I’m actually looking forward to hearing back from GreatDane51.
Things are finally looking up.