Friday, 18 March 2011

Spoilt for Digital Choice

Flirtbox.co.uk has the great benefit of being free. Setting up a profile is painless. Within minutes you have a presence on the site and are ready to flirt and be flirted with. My introductory e-missives to Beautifulsweetlittlething and HuskyDarlingtonLady were ignored, but the lovely Julia84 responded almost instantly to the message I sent her.

We had so many interests in common: film; music; literature; travelling. George Orwell was her favourite writer. She listened to the Velvet Underground and Ella Fitzgerald. She worshipped Casablanca. She wanted to live by the sea and learn to sail.

Our early exchanges went well enough. Cari84 would choose Rick over Lazlo. She agreed that the Velvets were much better with Nico. Not that she put any of this in full sentences of course. Full sentences are not the stuff of this sort of chat. The latter sentiment went something like this: OMG! vu w/ nico? vu w/o nico? erm??? idk. w/ nico. Not only did this fail to make me lol, there was absolutely no chance of it making me rofl.

Cari84 responded quite favourably to the wizened looks my profile photo displayed, but didn’t take too kindly to my failure to abbreviate. 'WTF!' I said, 'I’m fond of the fuller form'. When I mentioned that I wasn’t really six foot four as my profile had suggested, and that my six pack was five cans short, I never heard from her again.

Cari84’s disappearance caused me a monetary despair. I was a dating site non-entity. The only message I had in my inbox was from AmazonEssexGirl who wanted to do unspeakable things with tropical fruit. Few people were clicking on my profile. And the more profiles I looked at, the less my interest was aroused.

The experience of online dating reminded me of when Rebecca Llewellyn stood me up in Cardiff in 1989. But at least this time I didn’t have to spend two hours standing outside Marks & Spencer listening to elderly shoppers discuss the evolution of undergarments. Instead, I logged off, snapped shut the jaws of my laptop, and spent the evening wandering around the house in a state of increasing doubt and self-recrimination.

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