Sneek Peak~~Chapter 2

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The cost for joining is money I don’t have, but I charge it to my close-to maxed-out credit card and take the plunge.

“Congratulations!” the site states.  “You’re on your way to a brighter tomorrow with a significant other!*”  More fine print and lies which I skip over.

Before I can see other profiles, I have to fill out my own:

Name: Isabella White
Age: 30
Height: 5’6″
Weight: 54kg
Occupation: Stay at home mum

I stare at my occupation a minute before erasing it.  I can’t say I’m a stay at home mum.  How dull, how lackluster.  I gulp down the last of the wine and tap on the desk and wonder what I should say to make me more appealing.  Bank President?  Senior Web Designer?  Artist?  Casualty Nurse?

Several minutes tick by.  I conclude that my new career should be one I know something about so that I don’t sound like a complete idiot if a man asks me about my job.

Occupation: Housekeeping Manager and
Recreation Director

“That’s better,” I hiccup, plus it isn’t a lie.  My days are occupied with cleaning, laundry and entertaining two preschoolers.  Manger and director, indeed.

I continue filling out my profile:

Likes: mocacchinos, the beach, good friends
Dislikes: smoking,
Movies, Music, Books: chick flicks, romance novels,
Hobbies: working out at the gym,
Describe my ideal date: a quiet dinner at a romantic
restaurant on the waterfront; a stroll on the beach
What I want in a mate: kindness, sincerity
One-sentence philosophy I live by:

Again I tap on the desk, wondering what to say.  Philosophy?  I didn’t have one.  But by not putting something down, it looks like I’m not goal-oriented, and that wasn’t good.

Then I remember Pa’s words—surprisingly since my brain is fuzzy from the all alcohol—and type them out:

One-sentence philosophy I live by: Make your life count by taking charge.

There!  My profile is almost done.  So far so good.  “Upload your photo and choose your screen name and get ready to meet your match!*” says the bottom of the page. (*Uploading a photo does not guarantee a match.”).

That’s not so good.  I scan through my picture file for a decent shot, but all show my figure.  I crop the best one down to an extreme close up so only my eyes nose and mouth and very little cheek are seen.  As the photo is uploading, I type in a screen name to verify that it’s not already taken, and then it’s done.

I’m online dating.  I’m a classified singles ad.

Another page pops up.  “Check through our list of nearby singles who may be compatible with you!*”

“Here goes $49,” I hiccup again, my finger hovering above the, “Click Here to Start Your Search for Love!” button when a box pops up.

“KnightinShiningArmor77 wants to chat with you.  Accept or ignore?”

I blink and blink again.  A man wants to chat with me?  Already?  Me?

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