Dancing in your underwear

A while ago I succumbed to a trial of internet dating. I wrote a very tongue in cheek profile. It went along the lines of …Internet dating is a bit like supermarket shopping, the item on display looks great and tantalizing. You end up buying it even though it wasn’t what you needed. You took a taste and maybe even ate it, then instantly felt sick resulting in a vow never to do it again. I stated I was dubious about the success of this way of meeting someone. That most were looking with unrealistic eyes.

It appeared the men in my age group were delusional. They searched for a much younger woman.

They were scared they might meet a woman their own age. One that was childless and her body clock was ticking. A bunny boiler that had a wedding ring and babies on her mind. Or a fatal attraction femme fatale that would stalk them after one date. If they dared to forget to reply to her endless text messages, she would leave a psychotic voice message.

I wrote I didn’t cook like Jamie Oliver or massage like a Thai woman. I’m not one to do marathons. I liked travel but wasn’t interested in parachuting out of planes. I simply was looking for a fun person that enjoyed the simple pleasures in life, dining, weekends away, walking and just chilling. I had young adult children and preferred to meet someone similar. Yada yada.

Surprisingly, I received many virtual kisses and emails. Unfortunately, most looked like they lived in a mountain shack.

Regardless of my requested age bracket, I even had a throng of fans in their seventies. Their locations were in remote outback towns. They blatantly stated they were searching for a wife.

I had visions of pigs, mud and banjo music. Scary stuff!

I finally received a virtual kiss from a handsome younger man. He was seven years younger. I seriously only wanted to meet someone my own age or a bit older, not the grandpas that had been messaging me.

On reading his profile he appeared to be a great guy though he had no children. I replied with a virtual kiss along the lines of “thank you, I liked your profile too.”

He emailed me a reply complimenting my profile and how it made him laugh. He knew he wasn’t my ideal match but he was attracted to a confident woman who had an obvious sense of humour.

I wasn’t much older and he was quite attractive. I emailed it was a shame we weren’t at the same stages in our lives considering we lived fifteen minutes apart. He replied “yes though maybe we should still meet as friends. A chance to exchange our internet stories and have a laugh.”

Nothing to lose, maybe a new friend I thought. We exchanged phone numbers, chatted and organized to meet.

The day of the date arrived. I felt casual about it, not nervous at all. It was as if I was meeting an old friend.

I walked in the cafe. We caught each other’s eyes and instantly laughed.  After ten minutes chatting over a coffee, he says ‘Hey you’re a great chick, we get on well. Let’s ditch the coffee. There’s a fun wine bar across the road.

The alternative was sitting alone at home with my dogs and sifting dating profiles. The majority of the offerings in my inbox looked and sounded like they were spawned from shallow gene pools.

It took mere seconds to reply “Lets go!”

The date was going great. We talked animatedly for several hours. After five cocktails, a bottle of wine and some food, he asks  ‘Would you be interested in coming to my place? its nearby. I have Bollinger in the fridge, some old Motown disco, Bee Gees, Boogie Wonderland and Elton John on the iPod. No pressure, I promise to behave.’

Well by now we had spent the last six hours together having a roaring fun night. Would I refuse an offer like that? I wasn’t stupid, so we staggered back arm in arm.

We enter his studio apartment, he puts on a few candles and turns the music on. Next he pops open the Bollinger. This guy sure is smooth. He was younger yes, but hey, who keeps Bollinger in the fridge. I was impressed. The usual internet dates balk at even buying you a coffee, let alone cocktails all night, dinner and now Bollinger. My date wasn’t cashed up either. In fact, he was using his savings to create a global surfboard and retail website. Clever! His attitude and conversation was refreshing.

The men I had previously dated were still caught up thinking about how the ex-wife burned them. Some were stone broke, living back with their parents. They had fallen down a rabbit hole and seemed to have lost the desire or capability to forge a new path.

Back to my date. We were singing, dancing trying not to fall over. Suddenly, my date strips off to his boxer shorts. He begins his best risky business impersonation.  

It had been six hours of drinking and laughing. The candles were twinkling, music was booming. I was feeling brave. I follow stripping down to my underwear. We did a bit of a dance off to the mowtown disco beats. Lots of delicious smooching and groping. I hadn’t had this much fun in years!

But instead of falling into bed, we fell on the couch too inebriated to act out any passionate impulses.  He staggered to his bed and instantly started a quiet snore. I knew I was too tipsy to drive so I crashed on the couch.  

I was first awake. My head was pounding. I suddenly realized where I was. I didn’t want him to see me. I quietly dressed and shot out the door. I wasn’t going to spoil the illusion he had of me with my hungover face and panda bear eyes!

As soon as I arrived home, my phone beeps. ‘Where is my tiny dancer, come back?’

“In my bed about to snooze but thanks so much for such a fun non-date x.”

‘Well okay cute stuff, just let me know if you want to do go on a non-date again with someone who isn’t your ideal man. ” he replied with a winking emoji.

Who knows, maybe this Tiny Dancer might dance in her underwear again one day….you really can’t beat the feeling!

Published by Seafarrwide

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