I am not dating

I wrote this a cpl of yrs ago, when I was also not dating. But since I dream of someday writing for money, I occasionally set myself the task of writing a page or two about a particular topic. Happily for me, I have an ample supply of opinions on subjects about which I know nothing, so I'm seldom at a loss for words.
Aaaanyway, to make a long story short (too late!), this is about dating. Which I am not. Doing, that is. Okay.

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The bottom line is, I hate dating.

Dating is not relaxing. “It’s just an casual evening out,” we say. But we lie. The guy at the bullfight who sticks colored spears in the bull’s neck from a range of four inches is more relaxed than a typical couple on a first date. He knows what’s expected. He knows his job. He knows that the bull will not bore him with him endless stories about his ex-fiance, “who had a great butt, but not a brain in her head, if you know what I mean.” He is confident that the bull will not tell him “You remind me of my gynecologist. He is good-looking, but I am not attracted to him,” and then stare at him expectantly as he searches in vain for an appropriate response.

Dating is an appraisal process. We attempt to hide our own inadequacies, while we silently measure our date against a standard that (if they could meet it) would put them far out of our league. “There’s no pressure,” we say. “If the first date leads to others, well, great. If it doesn’t, then that’s fine, too.” This is also a lie. If a first date is not followed by more dates, it is because at least one party found the other to be a loathsome insect. I mean, let’s admit it: one of the purposes of a date is to find out whether the other person measures up to our standards. Is he romantic/funny/serious enough? Is she refined/intelligent/cheerful enough? And most important for a majority of men, does she have large breasts, and how soon might they be fondled?

Dating is about lying. We spend between five minutes (on the spectacularly unsuccessful date) and several hours attempting to impress someone whose preferences we have only the vaguest idea about. We pretend to be intelligent, well-mannered, witty, and belly-button-lint-free, and find out later that our date was one of eleven Americans with a lint fetish. And at the end of a date, when you know that the only way you would date this person again is at gunpoint, you have to pretend you’re looking forward to next time.

For a woman, this means saying “Thank you. I had a nice time.”

For a man, this consists of saying “I’ll call you.” At some point near the end of every date, there comes an echoing silence into which the man is required to speak these magic words. It doesn’t matter that he would rather cut off two fingers and a testicle than call this woman again -- if he fails to say “I’ll call you,” his dating license is immediately revoked.

To be fair, not everyone lies at the end of a date; experienced daters develop a series of refusal lines for use at the end of less-than-stellar dates. One girl I dated was fairly direct, indicating that she would summon the police if I called her again. I took this to mean that more dates were unlikely. Because I'm perceptive that way.

On the other end of the directness spectrum was another young woman I went out with (once) in college. When I asked if I could see her again the next day, she said, “Why don’t you let me enjoy thinking about the great time I had on this date for a few days, then call me.” Being extremely obtuse, I did call her after a few days. She said she was still thinking about what a wonderful time she had had with me the last weekend. I called again the next week, but she was still reminiscing. I called a few more times during the next few semesters; apparently the magic of that first date just never wore off. I noticed that she went out with other guys, and that one in particular gave her a lot of attention. Her dates with him must have been forgettable in the extreme, since they went out often during our last two years at the university. When I called shortly after graduation, her roommate told me she was on her honeymoon. I hoped the lingering memory of our date didn’t keep her from enjoying that special time to the fullest...