You look just like your photo.
I can pretty much count on the statement within five or ten minutes of any first date.
um, yes. And whose photo were you expecting me to look like?
Apparently, it’s an issue of Truth in Advertising. My dates have shared some of the craziest stories about the photos women post, evidently with the hope that men will not notice the duplicity. Hint: men notice.
She: I posted photos of my daughter instead of me because people say we look just like sisters. He: She’s twenty years younger and looks like her father.
She: I posted photos from college days because I really haven’t changed that much. He: …except for marriage, children, divorce, career, birthdays and all those other life events that age a person.
She: I posted a friend’s photo because she’s cuter. By the time he meets me, he’ll forget. He: I want to date her cute friend.
She: I didn’t post a photo, but, believe me, you won’t be disappointed. He: Believe me, I was.
I’m really not quite sure what these women are thinking. Eventually, you may actually meet the man you’ve been corresponding with and then what? Most men are going to make the connection: the photo and the woman are not the same.
And if he doesn’t make the connection, it’s probably not a man you’d want to date.
Most everyone fibs a bit except Mr. or Ms. Senior Universe and they don’t count because they’re not on dating sites.
Women subtract pounds from their weight; men add inches to their height if under six feet tall. It’s pretty much the norm. The photos, however, tend to tell the truth, unless they’re the same ones that have been used for the past ten years. Then, you wonder about who is actually going to show up for the date.
A few years back, a man opened an online email correspondence with me. My profile’s waxing poetic had captured his imagination and he began adding to it with his own waxing and poetic. It was delightful and, being a former English teacher, I wanted to jump right in.
But not before reading his profile and viewing his photo. We were, after all, on a dating site not a writing site.
He was teetering on the very, very tippy-top end of my marginally acceptable age range. He fostered rescued German Shepherds, a positive in my mind although I’m not sure why. His photo showed a retired gentleman with a jaunty straw hat. It was enough for me to jump into the fantasy writing.
Back and forth our emails flew. A short story, if not a novel or best seller, was fast emerging.
He paused the spell by asking me out for lunch. I immediately accepted. In keeping with the Mediterranean setting of which we had been writing, he chose a small Italian restaurant in a courtyard setting overlooking a large fountain. He was seated at the table waiting, when I walked in.
He had to have been fifteen to twenty years older than his profile age or photo.
It was, needless to say, a strained luncheon. It ended with his berating me for not being as flirtatious and engaged as I had been on email.
He was right but, in my defense, it was really, really difficult to flirt with a man that looked like my grandfather.