Some of my regular readers will be aware that I have recently joined a couple of online dating sites. Listen to me! Regular readers indeed! I'm beginning to think of myself as a proper writer. Anyway I did promise to keep you updated on my progress. Or, as it turns out, lack of it.
There is in fact very little to tell you. I had one date with a very nice lady. That's it. One date. But that one date, pleasant as it was, convinced me that I really and truly enjoy my life the way that it is.
I have to be honest with myself and freely admit that I am selfish and unwilling to change. Probably, as I am being brutal with myself, I should also admit that I would be unable to change anyway. Because, if I were to share my life, full time, with another, it would inevitably require some changes.
Although I am alone, I am not lonely. I have some very good friends. Indeed I have built up quite a social life for myself lately. In fact it can be too hectic at times for this old guy, and I have to step back and take a rest from it all.
I think what motivated me to join the dating sites was the lack of an, ahem, intimate side to my life. Hey! I'm getting on a bit, but I am not dead yet. There still courses, well, flows, oh alright then, dribbles, through my veins the blood of a passionate man.
However, if I'm not prepared to put the effort into a relationship I can hardly expect anyone else to. I will just have to soldier on, alone but happy. Until such time as the miracle occurs which sends Miss Wonderful, the perfectly understanding woman into my life. I am not holding my breath.
My subscriptions to the dating sites have been cancelled. I have seen the light. I am free from the need to be constantly checking my email inbox. No one will be contacting me. I will no longer have to suffer the indignity of not being tall enough, or solvent enough, or hirsute enough. I no longer have to feel guilty because I do not particularly like eating out, or going to the theatre. The inside of my car can go back to looking like a dustbin, and smelling like a dog kennel. The iron can go back into the cupboard where it belongs, and I can go back to my happy crumpled self. I don't care anymore. Because I am what I am. Not what I want some improbably perfect woman to think I am.