(we’re gonna give a minute for those of you who are working through the mocking. Do your thing. Also in case my Dad finally decided to check out the blog, because his head might have ‘sploded just then…)
Now in my own defense, I don’t really think I’ll find love at an evening of 6-minute meet-and-greets. But I’m curious enough to check it out. Also, it's pretty obvious to those of you who've been paying attention that I need things to write about.
(quick tangent: why six minutes? I’m not pulling that number from my butt, it’s the official amount of time they advertise. Is that for people who say “oh please, you couldn’t possibly get to know someone in five minutes.” but think that ten minutes is officially a commitment? “oh SIX minutes! Oh well that’s different. That’s ample time to decide if Joe Winecooler here is my especialist soulmate. Sign me up, six-minute mating ritual!” Whatever. Moving on.)
The free internet dating website (loving it more and more, in a way that means I don’t really interact with it but I don’t resent it for the money I’ve spent on it. Plus hey – speed dating!) has started putting together speed dating nights. I kind of think that’s a sign of progress for our sleepy little town. “Speed Dating comes to Hippyville! Soon we’ll get indoor toilets and one o’ them fancy movin’ staircases!” So I went to sign up for the April event.
But sadly it turns out I’m either too young or too old for zoom-mating. Man! (picture me snapping fingers in an exaggerated fashion.)
Seriously, here are the two options I have for the April speed dating:
- “Active/Fit Lifestyle, Ages 23-36 -- For those who are on the go, like to keep in shape and would like to meet the same!”
- “All Single Professionals, Ages 42-58” (for, um… old, creaky people who want to be nasty with another before they die. Of being in bad shape. With same. Or something.)
Then, of course, the final irony: the less-than-fit-and-disactive-lifestyle group is SOLD OUT. Apparently we are a town with a lot of older people who shun the healthy foods and the exercise and yet still think we’re worthy of wove, or at least hip-breaking nooky. Shame, shame on us all.
Gotta go take my calcium pill and learn to knit.
(and yes, I’m on the waiting list.)
(and just shut up.)