Washboard Abs of Pleasure, or Online Dating is Humiliating
In an effort to get over my Love in a Hopeless Place, I tried online dating for a minute. It was disappointing. Actually, it was…disorienting. Successful online daters, I have questions. First of all, let’s address this “successful online dater” thing. Everyone knows someone who’s found love on these sites, but it’s always like the cousin of a coworker of a girl in your spin class. Urban legend much? And not to get racial, but most of the women I know that it’s worked for are white (please god, someone leave a comment and prove me wrong!). Which must be because there are scores of white men dating online — good looking, moneyed, strong-shouldered. Most of the men that are matched up to my profile are white, which I’m a hundred percent down with. But it begs the question…where are the quality black men?
The ones I’ve run across are so embarrassing I’m losing chic points even discussing them here. I’m talking about profile pics featuring shirtlessness. Basketballs. Poses involving leaning up against bad cars or holding wine bottles (or both). My friend Charlotte summed it up perfectly: “It’s a lot of Al B. Sure types promising magic nights, Godiva chocolate and washboard abs of pleasure.”
But then I came across a winner. Flawless walnutty brown skin and almond shaped eyes. A radiologist from Ghana via London. Yale. Kayaking! Pics of him tuxedo-ing at a benefit with expensive-looking friends! Funny, sexy emails. Yeesss! I met him at a coffee shop in Tribeca (always coffee first, drinks are too much pressure). First problem? No straight man needs to be anywhere at one in the afternoon wearing a fringed, lollipop red day scarf. And a little fedora. He looked like Ne-Yo. The glare from his buffed nails was blinding. Somebody get Dr. Dandy outta here. And yet, I tried to make the most out of it — no reason to waste this hairdo:
We chatted a little — actually he chatted, asking me nada about myself — and he was obnoxious on a level I’ve rarely experienced. I had to share this little snippet.
Me, bored: So how long have you been on blankety blank site?
Dr. Dandy: Awhile, but I have to admit something.
Me: (you’re gay) What?
Dr. Dandy: You’re the first brown woman I’ve asked out in years.
Me: How odd. Why?
Dr. Dandy: I have in profile that I really only want to date girls outside my race.
[Note: I barely read his profile. I saw "Yale" and "radiologist," and jumped. I'm not proud of this.]
Me: Sooo…what do you think I am?
Dr. Dandy: I figured you were mixed, so I thought I’d give you a chance (huge belly laugh).
Me: Nope, regular black girl. From DC, no less. Black black black. My middle name is Aisha.
Dr. Dandy: I guess my radar is off, hardyhardyhar (another guffaw)!
I’m totally grossed out, swishing a straw around in my Orangina and formulating an exit line.
Dr. Dandy: How old are you, may I ask?
Me, adding on four years to bother him: Forty. You?
Dr. Dandy: Forty? Hrmph. I’m thirty-one.
Me: Oh, you’re a baby.
Wait for it…
Dr. Dandy: Don’t call me a baby. I’m a grown ass man. Don’t ever call me a baby.
What kind of man speaks in a vaguely threatening tone to a woman he’s just met…and in reference to such an innocuous comment? I didn’t say what I wanted to say, which was “Your grasp on your manhood is so tenuous that it all falls apart when a complete stranger calls you a baby? Your daddy beat you at one-on-one a couple times too many?” Instead, I stared at him for a second, blank-faced, and then said, “You really need a nap.” And bounced.
Should we even discuss the “I don’t date girls outside my race” thing?
Officially taking an online dating break until further notice. These men out here are batshit!