Monday, April 10, 2006

#635 One Nice Note, and One Stupid Stupid Stupid Note

Monday, April 10, 2006

I forgot to mention - I heard from Dreyfuss. He says I'm "an attractive interesting lady" and he hopes that "perhaps we can meet again". So I suggested dinner (diner, dutch). I'm still not too very enthusiastic - remember, I'm looking for someone who can maybe possibly displace Roman. That's a tall order.

There's another guy, let's call him Fishkill, in whom I am very interested. We've been firing emails back and forth, probably 25 or so by now. I discovered we both also have profiles on a brand new site with an interesting "guided" process, where they select the people to whom they introduce you, and they don't allow direct email contact between two people until you have gone through personality tests, and answered specific questions posed to each other, and so on. So we've been following that process and "behind the building" commenting back and forth to each other about it (wildly against the rules!) I find his mind fascinating. My only concern is that he describes his ideal as "energetic, athletic, firm, and slender."

Uh oh.

Um, would you call Dolly Parton with wide baby-birthing hip bones and short powerful legs "slender"? I will NEVER be slender, even at my ideal weight, which, incidentally, is still two or three months off. And I am strong, even powerful, and fairly well muscled (I build muscle easily), but not I'm not "athletic". I can walk for miles at a reasonable pace, especially now that I've lost more weight, but I flatly refuse to run. (Not to mention that at my age and build, bouncing boobs bruise my chin.) And with all this loose newly-emptied skin, I am anything but "firm". Gack. Should I warn him or not? Should I hope that at first meeting my smiling eyes and scintillating mind distract him?

Well, back to the stupid stupid stupid note. We had to chose some questions to send each other on this new site. I answered both questions from him honestly, but one of my answers was (I feared) likely to raise a question in his mind which I would prefer not to answer just yet. But just in case, I spent some time last night composing an answer, really thinking about it, in case he asked the question. Giving myself time to think about it and all that. I wasn't completely satisfied with it, but I'd have more time to think about it, right? Then I stored it in the "To be sent later" folder on AOL. When I brought AOL up this morning, one of the first things that popped up was the "You have mail waiting to be sent" blurb.

Yeah. You guessed it.

I accidentally hit the "Send now" button, instead of the "Send later". I had recently installed a new version of AOL, and the location of that button had changed. The first time I had brought up this AOL, a few weeks ago, I had embarrassed myself terribly by doing the same thing, and sent some never-should-have-been-sent emails, notably to Roman (who knew my mood at the time I had originally written those unsent emails, and forgave me. I think.) Since then, I've been careful to put my own address in the "to" field, until I'm really ready to send it, so if I screw up it will just come to me. I didn't follow my own rule this time.

I immediately fired off a note telling him what had happened and begging for pity. (My premature anticipation of his unasked question makes me sound both aggressive and defensive, and a damned prude to boot.) Unfortunately, he didn't read that note until AFTER he had read the first note, and responded to it. His response was humorous, but with an undercurrent of sarcasm and bitterness. Which I completely understand. Sigh.

I may have blown it. Sad. He coulda been a contender.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Have some faith in email fate! Okay, maybe I give too much meaning to simple technical errors, but I find such little mistakes, viewed in hindsight, tend to move things in whatever direction is appropriate. It works the other way around, too - someday you'll write something and mean to click send, really thinking it's a good idea to send it, only to delete it by mistake... and the next day you'll thank the email gods.