I don’t need a boyfriend. I need a secretary. Would it be possible, I wonder, to find one person to fulfill both rolls? I’m thinking something along the lines of, “Hey babe, could you grab me another cup of coffee? And while you’re at it, please call Date #9 to confirm that I’m meeting him in Rittenhouse tomorrow night. Thanks hon!”
Then again, maybe not.
I’ve been resisting the urge to create a spreadsheet to keep track of my dates (seriously, a spreadsheet? Isn’t that just a tab dehumanizing?), but now I’m starting to think that my sticky tabs aren’t going to cut it. Not when I’ve spent the past 48 hours arranging another first date marathon.
I’m going with a nice neutral colored nail polish this time because being the mature serial dater that I am (and no, “mature serial dater” is not an oxymoron!), I’ve learned from my past mistakes.
Lesson #1: If you want to end up with some seriously messed up cuticles, then by all means: go ahead and repaint your nails every 24 hours because you know those guys you’re dating? They are totally going to notice that your shoes match that new bottle of Raven Red polish you purchased at Franklin Mills earlier this summer. Said men will also applaud you for having purchased both the Raven Red and the similar yet distinctive Raisin Red, and they will note, as you did during your trip to Franklin Mills, that the Raisin is slighter pinker than the Raven so it was definitely a good idea to buy both.
In fact, most guys mention this very topic in their Match.com profiles: “I’m looking for a girl with a great sense of humor and an even greater sense of footwear to fingertip coordination!”
Ahem… not so much.
So Twinkled Pink it is. This pearly but neutral shade will go with the new blue dress I’m planning to wear for Date #9 tonight, the casual but chic look I’m going to try to pull off for #10 on Friday and whatever it is I manage to haul out of the laundry for #11 by the time Saturday rolls around.
Lesson #2: Serial dating requires major focus. And not just in terms of going on dates—although I fully expect to show up at the wrong bar one of these days— but in terms of scheduling dates. The Match.com website is kind of like that arcade game Whack-a-mole. You respond to your latest Match email and then bing, bang, BOOM! Three new profiles pop up.
A law student who’s new in town!
An engineer looking to meet his best friend!
A transplant from the UK!
I ignore the law student (whack!) and bypass the engineer (whack!) but I can’t help myself when I see the letters “U” and “K” in such close proximity. Practically salivating, I forget all about my Match emails and head straight for the Brit’s profile. How long has he been here? Does he still have an accent?
My interest is purely scientific of course (I’m still determined to unravel the mystery of British men and their dating habits) but I am already wondering if he’d like a companion on his next trip across the pond to visit his folks. As it is, I’ve got my passport and my Oyster card in my desk drawer, ready to go at a moment’s notice. (And no, I’m not kidding. I keep all of my UK “stuff” in a makeup bag with my mobile phone, my NHS card and my electrical socket converter). In fact, Mr. Transplant, British Airways is having a sale right now so why don’t we just cut to the chase and—
Wait a minute.
What was I supposed to be doing?
Right. I was in the middle of emailing Date #10 with my phone number to finalize plans for tomorrow night. Whoops.
For a minute there, I’m worried that I’ve somehow contracted early onset dementia but it’s not dementia; it’s just dating.