In her 40s and single, Lucina Russell signed up for an internet dating site. She had mixed results. I bit the bullet. Fellas would fancy you, especially now that you have learned how to plough a field. They give me tips for internet dating.
I know that they have been talking about me. They mean well, but I feel like an ageing horse, getting my teeth checked, to see if there is any life left in the old nag.
So before I declare myself fit for pasture, I did it. I signed up for internet dating, on a whim, early one Sunday morning, after yet another weekend on my own with my mutt. But what to share? Oh gawd, the template online is looking for a photograph. Of me. Maybe I should upload a pic of my dog? I opt for a discreet photo, after I Instagram it to death.
Then there is the small matter of my name. I opt for honesty and remind myself, several times that there is nothing wrong with online dating. Then the much dreaded questionnaire. My brothers have already said, half joking, but deadly serious, that, given my success rate, that they will screen any future suitors. I feel like giving up there and then and resigning myself to old age, with just me and my handsome mutt.
Within minutes, I swear, minutes, guys send messages saying that they want to meet me. All before 8. I marvel at the wonder of technology. I have almost planned my outfits and picked my diary dates. And a few days later, another. This online dating starts to feel like the nightclub I used to go to where drunken guys would do the rounds, staggering past every girl at closing time looking for someone, anyone for a goodnight kiss.
