Online Dating

May 2, 2013 § Leave a comment

It was with great desperation for companionship that I had decided to turn toward online dating. My crippling social anxiety had made meeting women in my everyday life woefully unsuccessful, and once illegal. The holidays were fast approaching, and I so longed for the touch of another by a warm fire to feel human again. I vowed I would not spend another year wallowing in my solitude.

With excitement I took to the internet, filling in various profiles and personality sheets to ensure I met the most wonderful girl the world wide web had to offer. At first I described myself as tall and handsome, hoping to stand apart from the crowd. This yielded poor results and I found my profiles lost in the veritable sea of good looking people who spend all their time on the internet. I honed in on my good qualities, discussing my love of badminton and appreciation for Oscar Wilde. Again, my efforts seemed to get lost in the shuffle. Finally I took a most direct approach. No longer asking for love, I demanded it. I ordered the internet to bring me a most beautiful and voluptuous lover to be mine till death.

Days later I received a response from someone who seemed to be a perfect match. She described herself as well crafted and full-bodied, like a rare mead brewed by lost monks. She quoted Wilde in her response, and identified herself as the female badminton champion of Eastern Europe. She even went so far as to joke about her mortality, claiming she could be mine forever, without the hindrance of death.

We agreed to meet at a local pub  at 7:00 PM sharp that same evening. This all seemed rather sudden but decades of romantic cinemas had taught me the best love stories unfold in less than two hours. I arrived at the pub early on the night of our meet. A yellow rose sat on the table to single me out from the other eligible bachelors who were obviously far too plebeian to find love as efficiently as I had. I ordered a Dandelion and Burdock and sipped the concoction while eagerly awaiting her arrival. The Parliament Clock behind the bar read 6:58 and its ticks seemed to grow increasingly giddy to match my excitement. Finally, the clock struck seven and I jerked my head in both directions, looking for a voluptuous badminton player to whisk me away.

While my love seemed nowhere to be found, I did notice a dark figure through the undulating crowd of drunken football fans and strained my eyes to make out its shape. The figure moved closer, seemingly passing through the bar patrons with no effect. Time appeared to slow as it moved nearer and nearer. Soon the figure is seated across from me, a darkened haze of cold soot floating in the dirty breath around us. Its curves are very feminine, the shape of hips and busts and buttocks very pleasing to the eye. There is a face of sorts but nothing particularly describable. From its center the figure births a yellow rose out of the aching filth and places it on the table. It is nearly identical to mine and I know now that my date is right on time.

 

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