Another short one, as an interlude from the saga that became Mr. Dyson!
Yesterday, I met Mr. Socks for coffee. No - romance has not been revisited. It's just that the man with the monster sock collection fancies himself as a bit of a scriptwriter and entrusted me with his first literary masterpiece for comment; to his credit it is actually very good, despite his dubious use of unnecessary apostrophes, which he blamed on 'Movie Magic' software, whatever that is!
He obviously feels that we have got over any awkwardness regarding our recent liaison as, after admitting to an obsession with Dallas (at which point I realised what a lucky escape I'd had!), he proceeded to ask my advice on how he should handle a woman he'd recently been dating and didn't see a future with! Great plan - asking moi for relationship advice! What was he thinking?
Anyway, talking of blaming computers, if one considers what I've recently been matched with on the Internet then perhaps his excuse is a valid one. What is it about certain dating websites that repeatedly match me with individuals that I wouldn't go within 5 miles of a bed shop with, let alone a bed?
The worse culprit is the site which requires hopeful candidates to complete a lengthy personality profile, akin to any psychometric test I have ever been required to do for senior legal jobs. The first time I tried to join the site, having spent 30 minutes laboriously ticking boxes, it had the audacity to reject me on the basis that it had insufficient suitable matches, adding that I shouldn't worry as it happened to 20% of applicants.
A different perspective on not getting past first base!
A couple of years later, having got over the initial humiliation, I decided it was worth another try....alleluia...they accepted me. I can only assume it ws because the 80% of applicants it had previously accepted had cancelled their membership in disgust. After relieving me of the £30 fee, it proceeded to match me with a series of moustachioed dwarfs (quite literally) who lived hundreds of miles away? To be fair, I was rather glad about the geographical divide because, as sure as night follows day, if they had lived closer they would undoubtedly have viewed me as their ideal woman and pursued me relentlessly.
So, back to Mr. Dyson (Part 4) ......
Yesterday, I met Mr. Socks for coffee. No - romance has not been revisited. It's just that the man with the monster sock collection fancies himself as a bit of a scriptwriter and entrusted me with his first literary masterpiece for comment; to his credit it is actually very good, despite his dubious use of unnecessary apostrophes, which he blamed on 'Movie Magic' software, whatever that is! He obviously feels that we have got over any awkwardness regarding our recent liaison as, after admitting to an obsession with Dallas (at which point I realised what a lucky escape I'd had!), he proceeded to ask my advice on how he should handle a woman he'd recently been dating and didn't see a future with! Great plan - asking moi for relationship advice! What was he thinking?
Anyway, talking of blaming computers, if one considers what I've recently been matched with on the Internet then perhaps his excuse is a valid one. What is it about certain dating websites that repeatedly match me with individuals that I wouldn't go within 5 miles of a bed shop with, let alone a bed?
The worse culprit is the site which requires hopeful candidates to complete a lengthy personality profile, akin to any psychometric test I have ever been required to do for senior legal jobs. The first time I tried to join the site, having spent 30 minutes laboriously ticking boxes, it had the audacity to reject me on the basis that it had insufficient suitable matches, adding that I shouldn't worry as it happened to 20% of applicants.
A different perspective on not getting past first base!
A couple of years later, having got over the initial humiliation, I decided it was worth another try....alleluia...they accepted me. I can only assume it ws because the 80% of applicants it had previously accepted had cancelled their membership in disgust. After relieving me of the £30 fee, it proceeded to match me with a series of moustachioed dwarfs (quite literally) who lived hundreds of miles away? To be fair, I was rather glad about the geographical divide because, as sure as night follows day, if they had lived closer they would undoubtedly have viewed me as their ideal woman and pursued me relentlessly.
So, back to Mr. Dyson (Part 4) ......
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