Matchmaker

In Fiddler on the Roof, two Jewish milkmaids asked Yente to make them a match. In modern times, we ask Match.com to find us a find. And what it finds us is, well, lets call him Mr. Schmo. Mr. Schmo lives in Schaumburg, and for those of you who don't live in Chicago: Schaumburg is to my zip code as Delaware is to yours. There, can you believe I didn't do better on the analogies portion of the SAT? Mr. Schmo is in his fifties, and thinks that 25 miles is as insignificant as 25 years apparently. His profile is usually one anemic paragraph lacking substance, or any definite description of himself. He has one picture of himself in which he's about 20 yards away from the camera and wearing a baseball cap. Instead of saying something to you he simply avails himself of the wink button.

Lets discuss the wink button (and comparable actions) and its function on dating sites. How I use this tool is to express interest to someone who is clearly out of my league and is unlikely to be interested in someone without abs, but I wink on the off chance that this very handsome guy is the 1% of non shallow gay men that has a thing for sassy big-nosed guys. The other reason I use the wink button is in cases of physical attraction where I find that there's not enough in the profile to determine if we'd really be a match. Me, being the bigmouth queen of TMI that I am, have plenty in my profile that will let you know that I'm a witty smart fast talking knitting swimming mover and shaker. So, assuming that those are really the only two reasons there are to use the wink button lets examine Mr. Schmo's wink:

You are clearly too old for me. However, I tend to date older men, and will forgive this fact if you are attractive and upbeat enough to keep up with a twenty-something like myself. If you want to woo someone like me you should live within convenient public transit to me. You should probably, at the very least, live in the same city as me. It would help to share and interest with me like books, or loafers or steak tartare. It also helps if you are willing to go a little above and beyond to impress me. If you're winking for the reasons that I wink you want me to take a chance on you and see something in your profile that piques my interest. However the four sentences you write about how you like TV and staying at home, and you work as a software developer, and you like pizza tell me that your lifestyle is my biggest nightmare.

So, Mr. Schmo, of the Schaumburg Schmos, obviously your wink is the dating equivalent of shouting out the window of a busted ass car as you drive by me on the street. It's not flattering. It doesn't pique my interest. And it annoys me even more because it seems to be the only attention I get on this website.

So I ask of you web Yente, powerful cyberspace concierge of romance and questionably sourced information, is there not anything else out there for me? Can you not find me a successful handsome open minded presumably Jewish suitor that lives within 10 miles of downtown Chicago. I know he exists. It's impossible that I've exhausted all of this species. True, maybe there are no more eligible bachelors in the Gold Coast but there are a lot of zip codes in Chicago. Surely there must be someone who lives in the City of Chicago proper and not just Chicagoland on your internet meet market of eligible bachelors.

So, disappointed with one matchmaker, I decided to turn to another. I went to the Anti Cruelty Society and told the woman to make me a match and catch me a cat. It was like trolling the profiles on Match.com as I scrolled through the rows of cages with eager cats of all shape size and coloring. Each had a tiny paragraph describing their personalities. They all posed and trying to look cute. They meowed their cutest meow. The kitties courted me in any way they could. In the group "social cat" room one actually walked over another to get to me, pushed all the other kitties out of the way for my attention. Some were outgoing cats, some were overweight, some were a little too old, and some even a little to young and immature for my liking.

The staff asked me what I was looking for in a companion.

"What?" I asked

"What features are important to you in a companion?"

"Well," I said after a short moment of consideration, "I want someone friendly and outgoing at times but can be quiet and reserved when we need to be. They should be active enough to stay healthy, and love to cuddle. I don't want someone mean or secretive or too damaged. I want someone old enough to know how to behave, but still young enough to grow with me." After I said it I wasn't sure if I was describing a man or a cat. It dawned on me that I might have been looking for a cat when what I really wanted was a man. But maybe, I was just accepting the fact that by looking for a boyfriend I was simply looking for a friend and someone to keep me company.

Maybe I was looking for a man when what I really wanted was a cat.

Finally I narrowed my selection down to two kitties, two men who both seemed desperate for someone to take them home. One was physically affectionate, climbing all over me, giving kisses, rolling on his back letting me scratch his belly. The other was a big loudmouth. From the moment I took him out of the cage he wouldn't shut up. This kitty Oscar, genuinely knew his name and if you said it he would light up and meow even more. I asked the staff if this was just a show and they told me no, that his last owner got rid of him because he was too vocal. So it came down to the kitty that showed his affection, or the one that was all talk.

And, while there are a lot of variables in the man I'm looking for there is one constant: actions are always more important than words.