In the tradition of my catch-as-updates-come-in on-line dating “series,” I give you a slightly related and just as funny link, to the “best of”, London Review of Books, personal section. My favorites include:
I vacillate wildly between a number of archetypes including, but not limited to, Muriel Spark witticism-trading doyenne, Mariella Frostrup charismatic socialite, brooding, intense Marianne Faithful visionary, and kleptomaniac Germaine Greer amateur upholsterer and ladies’ league darts champion. Woman, 43. Everything I just said was a lie. Apart from the bit about darts. And kleptomania. Great tits though. Box no. 2236.
Mostly I like it for the pacing, but I find the omission of semi-colons quite irritating, and sufficient reason to move on, to:
If clumsy, unfeeling lust is your bag, write to the ad above. Otherwise write to me, mid-forties M with boy next door looks, man from U.N.C.L.E. charm, and Fresh Prince of Bel Air casual insouciance. Wikky wikky wick yo. Box no. 2851.
But only because I like the word ‘insouciance.’ The vinyl joke is SO 2001. And…
If I could be anywhere in time right now it would be 17 December 1972. I have my reasons. Man, 57. Box no. 1553.
Because he’s clearly detail oriented and still has his memory, even if his favorite moment in time was when he was 21. No desirable person would peak at 21. At least make it by 18, for christ’s sake. And…
Google-search this: ‘Inherited wealth real estate Bentley’ – that’s me, result 63 of 275. It’ll take 0.21 seconds to find me online, but an eternity of heartache in real life. Save time now by writing to box no. 4511, or by just giving up. Mother says you’ll never be good enough for me anyway. And you carry the odour of your class.
Because it took a decidedly bourgeois calculative impulse to carry off that paper thin joke. Finally:
God appeared to me in a dream last night and spoke your name in my ear. He gave me the winning lottery numbers, too, though, so you can understand where my priorities lay when I raced to grab a notebook and pen. Man, 37, living on hope and the next seven weeks’ bonus balls seeks woman whose first name begins with S, or maybe F, and rhymes with chicken, and has a surname that’s either a place in Shropshire or the title of a 1979 Earth, Wind and Fire track. Shicken Boogiewonderland, I know you’re reading this. Write now to box no. 5729.
Because I love you.