Ever seen the original Bridget Jones’s Diary? Yeah, that’s my life in a nutshell.
If you’ve been infected by the “single bug,” you know that a reintroduction to the dating world is a huge pain in the ass. Add an anxiety disorder into the mix and you’ve got a circus worth sharing.
Let’s start with the tragedies of online dating. It’s a cluster of catastrophic conversations that never seem to end. Honestly, the silence gives me anxiety worse than a visit to the proctoligist. (Side Note: I’ve never been to the proctologist. It just sounded good.)
“How are you?”
“Good, how are you?”
“Great. So what are you up to?”
“Not much. You?”
“Not much. Just sitting here.”
“OK. Great. Have fun.”
Fast Forward One Hour…
“So what are you up to now?”
“Picking my nose while riding a unicycle down a busy highway.” Not really, but that’s what I want to say.
Fast Forward Seven Days
The drama begins.
“Haven’t heard from you. Are you mad at me?”
“You must be.”
“Really, I’m not. I’m just sitting here having a panic attack because this silence makes me want to read long engineering articles full of dry statistics and boring facts….and I know nothing about engineering.”
Insert the Pleasantries of Pics
The pictures these Romeos choose are even more interesting. A tenth seem to have long mustaches highlighted by a side profile pic with a glazed over stare. Picture #2 is usually a selfie mugshot reminiscent of Russell Brand’s train wreck torrent in 2002.
Countless snap shots of motorcycles clutter your inbox. Not to mention the scads of fishing boats, guns, farm equipment (I’m from the Midwest.) and obvious examples of once-happy couples where an ex has been cut out.
Of course, there are the occasional select few that you give your phone number to. Those make for an interesting recollection.
Take, for instance, Jeff Something Or Other. Jeff seemed like a nice guy. Funny, witty and wearing a great cowboy hat that made me more than curious about his character.
Day one of texting was, um, enlightening. I learned that he had an ex who stalked him from across the street of his current job. He didn’t have a driver’s license due to a legal mishap. And he couldn’t seem to differentiate “your” from “you’re” if he had to.
I’m pretty sure “Ain’t” was a part of the lingo too.
Obviously, this was not a “match.” However, the seal on the deal came when an interesting picture came to light.
“Want a pic?” he asked.
“Sure,” I responded.
You can guess what soon appeared.
The dynamic D. There it was-a turtle peeking out of its shell. Small, hairy and unforgettable. I think there may have been bumps on it too. I didn’t look long enough to know.
Why is it that men think we want to see THAT? We don’t. Quite frankly, we don’t care about your nether regions. Surely there must be a guy out there who is, well, normal?
So here I go, off into the dating world WITH ANXIETY IN TOW. Will I have a panic attack in a crowded restaurant somewhere off of Interstate 74?
Stay tuned to find out.
P.S. This Friday anecdote is a part of our new Friday series on real life accounts of living with an anxiety disorder. Do you have a story to share with our readers? E-mail me at: email@example.com
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