About five years ago, my mother still had hope sheâ€™d become a grandmother one day, and was adamant that I wasnâ€™t putting enough effort into finding my future ex-wife. While I was home for the holidays, in an attempt to calm her down, we signed up for one of those online matchmaking services. I picked out the picture of myself that made me the least suicidal, and tapped out a fairly charming little ad that was really more to get Mom feeling better about her spinster son than finding me a mate. Ironically, I had actually just started seeing someone, but for reasons I didnâ€™t want to go into, I wasnâ€™t really comfortable telling my mother about it.
So as time went by, Iâ€™d get the email updates from the site, but as I was dating someone, I never paid much attention to them. And in the five years the profile was up, I had one girl email me to say she was interested. One. In five years. And, I hate to say it, she was, like me, not a pretty person. Though I canâ€™t really be sure, what with all the metal studs in her face and the tattoos on her cheek. Iâ€™m sure she was super cool.
Now, I know I am not an attractive person. I understand this. Iâ€™m even ok with it most of the time. That girl I had started seeing behind my motherâ€™s back? She explained early on in our relationship that she was â€œonly going to date ugly men, because all good looking men are assholes.â€ At the time, I actually rationalized that it was a nice thing to say, because it meant she respected me enough to be honest with me about my looks. I can be pretty retarded when I need to be.
So last month, more as a social experiment than anything, I took my picture off the profile. In less than five weeks, Iâ€™ve gotten eight women to express some interest in letting me buy them things. And interestingly, seven of them demanded that I post a picture of myself, lest I never hear from them again. I suspect the eighth one was going to wait to see what kind of car I drive. I considered actually complying and putting the picture back on, just to see what sort of creative excuses theyâ€™d come up with, but it seemed like a lot of effort just to prove something I already know.