I’ve really enjoyed the experience so far of reading profiles, looking at pictures and exchanging emails and going on dates with the potentials for future Mr. Marvi Marti. Maybe it is just my over all attitude and approach to this, but I’ve not had the horror stories that I’ve read about in blogs by other single women. Some of the horror stories my dates have shared have been worth every penny I spent subscribing to the sites, just for the humor associated with their adventures. I realize they don’t necessarily find it amusing but I certainly do! For example, 2 of my dates told me of a woman who is a
midget little person. She doesn’t say this in her profile, and her photos are done in such as way that it is not evident that when her profile says under 5 foot tall, it really means about 3 foot if in stilettos. They don’t find out until this tiny little thing shows up and has to get a running start to jump up on the seat in the booth at the restaurant.
All of the men I have met, and there have been many, have really been great guys. (Nope I am NOT a serial dater, I’m looking for my Prince and ya gotta meet a lot of frogs to find one it seems. It’s a chemistry thing…still trying to find it though there have been 2 second and one 3rd date so far….) Their photos and descriptions of themselves have been accurate. I have been shocked by some of the men that contact me. Two of these men are very well off, as in LOADED from what I can tell. I know, dear sistas out there, you are wondering why I am not beating a path to their yacht and finding a way to rope them into marriage. That is what this post is all about today, WHY I am not even pursuing a date with them.
When a man has photos of all over Europe, him in them, and his fancy cars, and with the high society members he rubs elbows with, it freaks me the hell out. Their profiles are very well written, it is very evident that they are everything they claim as far as money, social circles etc. That or they are expert
con-artists actors, and that is always possible. But seriously…I am a simple, laid back, partially redneck, west side girl. In my world it’s paycheck to paycheck living. Let me paint the picture from what I have read and the photos I’ve seen both on the site and what was sent/shared directly:
Your world is tuxedos/black tie events, famous or wealthy people. You know which fork to use of the 12 positioned next to your fancy china plate that is worth more than the car I drive. My world is hoodie sweat shirts, face paint, burgers on the grill and we eat with our fingers or plastic forks.
In your world it is Chateau Mouton Rothschild and Chateau Lafite wine and Tutankamun Ale beer. In my world it’s Four Buck Chuck and Barefoot wine, Bud Light, Select 55, and PBR (stands for Pabst Blue Ribbon, as in beer, not Professional Bull Rider).
You dine on filet minion and things I cannot even pronounce let alone spell! Around here we dine on White Castles and grill our own bacon beef sliders and slap those babies on buns from the discount bread store.
You enjoy dressing in multi-hundred dollar outfits and going to the opera, symphony and Broadway, or a sporting event in the heated luxury suite, fully catered. I am outside with the 65,000 screaming fans freezing our asses off in the stands wearing old blue jeans and gym shoes, or on a blanket in the park catching the Cincinnati Pops under the stars in capri pants, a tank top and flip flops.
Your idea of a nice evening out is a fancy meal, in fancy place, all dressed up, with menus written in French, candles on the table and hushed conversations. My idea of a great night is a sports bar, people yelling and clapping watching the game, and drinking beer. Hell I’m still learning to throw darts, I can’t handle a menu that requires a translator.
You jet all over the world for lunch or a vacation in fancy places like Paris and Monte Carlo. I’ve gotta be drunk to get on the plane to begin with, and like No Way Jose’s and Hogs and Honeys in Gatlinburg, Tennessee, or for an out of the country experience, Senior Frogs and Hard Rock Cafe in Cancun!
Do you get what I’m driving at here? Sure, I could hold my own at one of your fancy schmansy events if I stood there looking pretty and kept my mouth shut. You might even be able to pull an Eliza Doolittle on me and have me properly educated so I don’t stand up and scream “Come on Dover! Move your blommin ass!” at a horse race. But I wouldn’t be HAPPY! I’m not from your world, I wouldn’t be comfortable in it. Sure I am flattered you’d even consider someone like me, but we aren’t going to fit.
“Some day my Prince will come” and when he does, he’ll probably be riding a Harley and we’ll get matching tattoos. And that will be just fine with me! 🙂