Middle Aged Dating is War

(re-post)

As I reflect on months of inspired dating it has become clear: I've changed.

In the beginning I tried to be appealing. I assiduously (in the original post I used the word deciduous...I AM that dumb) sought items of mutual interest to ease the first awkward moments. I made an effort to be both witty AND charming.

I was a finely tuned witty repartee delivery machine.

RING RING

Charmaine: Hello?
John: Hi, this is John.
Charmaine: Hey. Which one are you again? I mean, what's your on-line name?
John: I'm Frankmfbo. You know, the tall guy.
Charmaine: Ohhhh yea, you're 6'8". Do you have some kind of pituitary problem or something?
John: Why do you say that?
Charmaine: Because the pituitary secretes growth hormone and you're abnormally tall.
John: Oh.
Charmaine: What are you doing?
John: I'm driving to a doctors appointment
Charmaine: What kind of doctor?
John: Ummmm, ya know....uhh....what do they call them...the head type.
Charmaine: Do you mean to say that you're seeing a psychiatrist?
John: Yes.
Charmaine: Are you on any medications?
John: Why do you ask?
Charmaine: Because you're speech is slurred.
John: (Fails to respond)
Charmaine: That was kind of a conversation killer, wasn't it?
John: Yea. So would you like to go out?
Charmaine: Click

Crazy people are best left alone. I tell you this from experience. I'm related to more then a few. Don't stick around, don't try to discern the problem, just run.

Do not infer that I don't like crazy people. I do. They're interesting. I was a Psychiatric Aid in Chicago. My Uncle was the resident Psychiatrist.

There was a lovely and genteel fellow who lived on the floor I managed. He was kind and courteous. His pants were too short. What did it mean?

After a week of employment I read his case folder. He was admitted to the hospital after beating his mother over the head with a hammer until she was dead.

If I see a man wearing floods, I run for the hills.