Speed-Dating (Or, oh what fresh Purgatory is this?)

So just to speed up this excruciatingly sluggish process I decide to try speed-dating, which had always seemed like a good idea to me, until I actually tried it.

This event is run by a group called “25 Dates” although I only get 10 “dates” and no one explains the shrinkage. The other wrinkle is that they divide the talent pool into two age groups: 39 and under, and 40 and over. The first group being the young ones and the second being the old bags. I ask how they came up with the idea that 40 is officially “old” and the only explanation I can get is a prim and snotty “this is the way we always do it and this is the way that works best.” So there. Try arguing with that logic.

Apparently any attempt to try something different (say holding one event for those aged 30-50, a sizable cohort) is too complicated.

Not that the pickings are much better in the younger group, but my coterie of crones consists of two people in their early 40s (one of whom would be moi) and the rest well into their 50s and 60s. Well, no offence folks but I’m not really interested in dating my mother, or my grandmother for that matter.

Still, I’m there and I’ve already paid my money. So I gamely move from table to table, or sometimes I stay and the next person comes to me. It’s completely confused and disorganized and the people running it obviously don’t have a clue what they’re doing. But it doesn’t matter because every date is a dud. First I get the whiner. That’s attractive. Then the one who can’t talk about anything but football. Then the one who keeps sticking her face in mine and asking me “Are ya nervous? Are ya nervous?” Charming. There’s not a decent prospect in the bunch. Still, it seems I’m stuck with this pitiful charade for the next 90 minutes. But hey, at least I got a free drink and a handful of nachos in the bargain.

Dating tip: if you are ever tempted to try speed dating, take your $35 and spend it on something worthwhile, like bathtub grout. You’ll thank me later.