My 7 year old daughter wisely informed me that the idea of me being someones "girlfriend" is "ridiculous". Humbly and with a modicum of nostalgia, I'd have to agree. Of course, in order to have the honor of the donning the title "girlfriend", one would have to first traverse the treacherous path of dating, with some degree of success. Where does a reasonably intelligent, highly amusing (albeit, a tad sarcastic), hopeful romantic...GULP...middle-age woman begin her quest for Prince Charming? Over-the-Hill singles night at Teddy's nightclub? Perusing the self-help section at Border's: carefully avoiding the "Parents without Partners" section and the complete Season 2, boxed set of "Desperate Housewives" DVDs, the gym: where one can try to compete with the thong-clad, 20 year olds who DON'T fall off the elliptical machine??? "Accidentally" bumping into the cute guy in aisle 7 of Stop & Shop...only to have his irate, significant other come at you from behind the Q-Tip display? Been there and (sadly enough) done that.
So, that leaves us (as I choose to believe there are more than one of us) with one, seemingly logical, viable solution: Match.com.
Regretfully, I must break here with a promissory "to be contd." as I need to take some time to figure out how to preserve the anonymity of the the gentlemen I have encountered amongst my travels in through the wild world of internet dating. For the record: those giggly, moony-eyed couples on the Match.com commercials.....sheer rubbish & poppycock.