I used to really love internet dating. Still do, as it goes. Think it's genius. Extremely entertaining and, as long as you don't take it all too seriously, an excellent way of lookin' for lurve. But I took my details off the interweb ages ago for various excellent reasons, so imagine my surprise when I received 3 emails this morning.
1. A man of at least 50, suggesting he might be 'out of my age range'. (My mother is in her mid-50s.)
2. A rugby playing City boy.
3. A tiny man who looks like Baldrick.
Obviously these three 'no-doubt-lovely-for-someone-but-just-not-me, ever' chaps will not do, but their correspondence has set me to thinking. And I'm trying really hard, but I can't think of any circumstance in which I would be at all interested in any gentleman caller, not even Clive Owen (having swapped brains with someone extremely clever and interesting, e.g. Stephen Fry, but not gay), telling me he loved big butts, and he could not lie.
What a relief.
No comments:
Post a Comment