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A Dating Site That's Too Good To Be True

According to a certain matchmaking web site, my local Dating scene is not as hopeless as I thought.

Its e-mails remind me that there are plenty of single women my age, in my home town - population a little over a thousand - eager to meet me. Rare is the day in which my in-box doesn't contain a wink or flirt from someone who has viewed my profile and found me irresistible.

My ideal matches, based on my profile, whose thumbnails are posted on my log-in page, do look attractive. I didn't know there were that many hot middle-aged women in all of Sanilac County Michigan, let alone tiny Lexington.

The only flaw in all this is that I never posted a profile.

Well - actually, I did. It has my Sex, age, and home town; and Monsieur Tom did check French in the languages spoken section. But that's all. No favorite music (Gregorian chants, rockabilly, and Sylvie Vartan covers of English top-40 songs), my ideal first date (exploring a local cemetery), or the answer to the question "my friends say I look like . . . " ("hell" is what I always put down).

Their user names include giveaways to their age. Pamela1953. Cutesandy57. Maureen19502008. Classylady1950. (1950? They're older than I am. I didn't think anyone was that old.) Another's name is Dorothy Fromoz. Interesting, I thought. That would work in a novel. Unless it's . . . it is. Dorothy From Oz. (She no doubt comes with pigtails, a blue and white checked pinafore, and red shoes.)

They all know how old I am.

I also learned that, due to a recent server problem that forced the site off-line, my free trial period has been extended from three to seven days. (They were off-line? The messages kept coming. And how generous. Three days is barely enough time to fire off a first batch of e-mails. Seven, yes; now that's room to stretch out and get comfy.)

The seven day free trial later became a "gift." If it was a horse, I would right now be looking it in the mouth.

I often wonder how dumb -- or desperate -- sites like this one think people are.

Dorothy Fromoz, in fact, thinks I'm so desirable that she followed her wink with an e-mail. "Were you trying to reach me?" she asks. The temptation is there to pay the $49.95 just to read the responses to a profile that contains only my name, rank, and serial number. I could invent a reason to dispute the charge with my credit card company, and eventually have it reversed. But I don't play those games, and I would be in effect lending the Dating site $50 interest-free for a couple months.

It's been established that some on-line matchmaking sites employ women to wink, flirt with, instant message, and e-mail, men; and in selected cities meet them in person. The objective being to get them to renew their memberships. This was the subject of my second AC article. It also explains the recurring 50s theme in the user names of the women, if they really are chicks and not nerdy guys at a keyboard, who responded to my non-existent profile.

It's also been established that the great majority of women of any age would sell their kids, or watch an entire evening's worth of Sportscenter, before responding to even the most innocent of first contacts. It's easier to feel lonely and miserable than do something about the situation. My in-box, however, is filled with women making the first move, flirting based on nothing.

I'm not desperate, or lonely; but I am offended at the operating practices of certain Internet dating sites that prey on the fears and insecurities of people who do, for whatever reasons, feel desperate or lonely. Relentless streams of one tease after another, one trick after another. You'd think they were selling satellite TV.

Gigi48221 has winked. That is a Detroit zip code. Leslie Caron was in the play, Audrey Hepburn the movie; and so was Maurice Chevalier. He sings "thank heav-on . . . for lee-tle gerrls . . . " It's based on a French novel, and all the songs were recorded by the original cast in French. Monsieur Tom might like her, if she exists.

Lori1964 is also flirting with a blank profile. 1964 was a pretty good year. The British Invasion was under way, and the baseball cards looked great. My rule, however, is: if I can remember what I was doing on or around your birthday - and, if it's in '64 I'm sure I can - you're too young. If you really are who you say you are.

I thus laugh in the face of Fate and pass on Madame Gigi, Lori, Pamela, Mo, CuteSandy, and all the classy ladies. And Dorothy Fromoz, and her little dog Toto too!

By Tom Sanders -

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