Large Fierce Mammal

On one sunny Summer’s day about ten years ago, the bountifully beauteous Mrs. LFM and I were shopping in the Halifax area when we decided a cup of coffee was in order. And so it came to pass that we pulled up in front of a coffee shop in the Bayer’s Lake district, facing the shop’s front windows. As I shut down the car, we both noticed a middle aged woman seated inside had focused all her attention on me, and how she began to smile with increasing delight as I opened my door, placed foot on ground, and stood up to reveal myself with the panache I bring to all occasions. We also noticed how her demeanor took a decided turn for the dark side when, in two steps, I opened the opposite door to take the hand of the Vision who next disembarked. It was as though, in her mind, we were personally responsible for inflicting some misery yet to be revealed.

The woman wasn’t a great beauty, though neither was she plain, but as we stood at the counter deciding on what to order, I noticed that she couldn’t control her eyes, and how they expressed a flickering mix of hurt, horror, hatred, and humiliation. I held Mrs. LFM’s chair for her as we took possession of a table across the shop from the woman, and taking my own we both noticed that aside from us, the barista, and the woman, the only other occupants of the shop were two teenaged boys who were bubbling over with the mirth of some private joke.

The woman was dressed and coiffed in that way one could describe as a “first meeting” look, and she  lingered uncomfortably over whatever was in her cup, clearly fighting back tears for as long as she could stand before fleeing the scene of the crime. It wasn’t lost on us that the two teenaged boys appeared to find this especially amusing. I stared at them in that way of mine, as did Mrs. LFM in that of hers, our thoughts showing clearly in our eyes – which one each of us would pick to cut the throat of, for we share everything. Their mood suddenly dampened and they left as quickly as the woman had, their half consumed beverages still steaming on the table.

If I still have to spell it out for you, it was abundantly obvious that the woman in the coffee shop had been the victim of a cruel prank perpetrated by the two miscreants who fled the scene in her wake when faced with a look that clearly expressed certain knowledge of their heinous transgression. It was also obvious from her reactions to Mrs. LFM and me as a couple that the woman had come to suspect such skullduggery to be afoot, but was caught on the horns of a dilemma – who to blame? Was it actually me who had led her to this singular moment of pain and humiliation for my own evil edification, or someone who had simply stood her up? If others had pulled up to that front window before us, giving her the impression they had either chickened out or didn’t like what they saw by immediately driving away, there was no way of knowing. In our peripheral vision, we could see all this playing out on her face and in the tension of her frame in the moments before she fled, as she sat for a time frozen like some hunted forest creature afraid to move.

There are many so called “dating” websites out there, of many flavours and kinds, but today I’ll focus on those where people purporting to be single post pictures and descriptions of themselves in a quest for the perfect match. One such of which I have some direct knowledge is Plenty of Fish, and I have that knowledge because someone who often comes to me for advice he rarely takes does some dabbling there. It is this that has inspired today’s poem.

Plenty of Fish owes a lot of its popularity to the fact that membership is free. My afore mentioned associate learned the con that is the pay dating site the hard way when he test drove an introductory offer from one that netted him no joy at all … until his membership was mere hours away from expiring, and he received a message from a woman who both showed great interest in dating him, and resembled a Victoria’s Secret model. It would require a skull of more than passing thickness to miss the sales pitch there.

Lest my words be mistaken as making light of, or poking fun at, those who choose these media as a pathway to happiness, I assure you that is not the case. I call the situation as I have seen it play out in real life. If I were to offer one word of advice it would be this – instead of using the internet to search dating websites, why not use it instead to seek out courses, seminars, and gatherings that embrace your own interests, and attend them? For there you will meet others of like mind. Real talking, breathing people who don’t get met only after absorbing their creative back story. With whom at least a friendship might grow, and then, who knows? At the very least, you might learn something that will improve your joy of life.

Just a thought.

Plenty o’ Fish

By LFM

“Plenty o’ Fish” is the place to go
For many a questing sod.
A place, they learn, where the odds are good,
But the goods are often odd.

They pore o’er profiles, fair and foul,
And weigh both con and pro
From pictures taken fifteen years
And fifty pounds ago.

A friend of mine oft tarries there,
I watch him weigh and heft,
And hope for fruit past “best before”
With a trace of ripeness left.

As others hope the same of him,
They’ll meet, and date, then part,
Each dragging damage from their past
That dooms it from the start.