Kismetology (13 page)

"You did
what
?" I yell at my mother when
she comes home from the date with Barry.

"I told you—"

"Don’t put that… that… that
thing
down on my
floor!" I yell. "It’s already killed one plant."

"He’s not an it, he’s a him. And he’s my Baby."

"I don’t care if he’s a flying giraffe, how could you
have taken
him
on a date with you?" I am nearly spitting the words
out in horror. "Dressed as a dinosaur, no less." I glare at the dog,
even though I know it isn't his fault.

"It's not just any old dinosaur, it's a Triceratops
outfit. And I did tell you to show them a photo, Mackenzie, and you said no.
How am I supposed to know if I can date a man if he doesn’t get along with my
dog? Introducing them up front is the best way."

"But Barry was taking you to a really nice restaurant
tonight. They don’t allow dogs in really nice restaurants."

"I know. We went and sat outside Starbucks instead. It
was very nice. I even had a doughnut."

"You could have been having a three course meal by
candlelight, and you opt for a skinny latte and a doughnut, all because of a
damn dog?"

"He’s not just a damn dog, Mackenzie. This is my—"

"Let me guess," I interrupt. "Your
Baby?"

"My Baby."

I sigh, knowing that I am losing this battle.

"So, aside from the dog part, how did it go? What did
Barry say to you bringing a dog on your first date?"

"Oh, he was very nice about it. He didn’t mind at
all."

"Well, that’s something," I reluctantly admit.
"When will you be seeing him again?"

"I won’t."

Oh, for god’s sake. "You won’t? I thought you said he
was very nice about it?"

"He was."

"So? Why no more dates?"

"Baby doesn’t like him."

"Baby doesn’t like him." I repeat the sentence
very slowly, as if repeating it might make it seem more real. "Did Baby
tell you that?" I ask, incredulously.

"No. He just bit him."

"He
bit
him?"

"Oh, not much. Just his shoe. And a bit of trouser leg.
And he maybe had a little bit of ankle as well, but Barry was very nice about
it."

I throw my hands up in the air and walk across the kitchen.
I want to bang my head against a brick wall. I am not only trying to find a
date in the useless sea of never ending freaks, but now I am hindered by a dog
as well. I’m blocked in from all sides. It’s like fate is telling me that this
just isn’t meant to be.

"Mum, you can’t keep doing this."

"Please call me Eleanor, Mac. Don’t you think I feel
old enough?"

I ignore the question. "Fine. Eleanor. You can’t keep
doing this. You’re not trying. You have to give these men more of a
chance."

"I am giving them a chance. But I can’t keep dating
them if Baby doesn’t like them. He actually growled at Barry."

"He growls at everyone."

"Not at everyone. He doesn’t growl at people he
likes."

"He growls at me all the time."

"Well, he hardly ever gets to see you anymore. He
probably thinks you’re a stranger."

"I wish I were," I say under my breath.

"I heard that."

I sigh. "I’m serious, Mu—Eleanor. These guys are good
catches in amongst a sea of pillocks that you don’t even want to hear about. I’m
not just setting you up with anyone who comes along. I’m working really hard to
make sure they’re your type and that they’re compatible. They’re not just any
old guys, they’re the cream of the crop." I stop myself there, that very
thought making me extremely depressed indeed. Is that really it? Are guys who
are cat people, and guys who have more money than sense and absolutely no
chemistry with my mother really as good as it gets? Maybe I should just give up
now, resign myself to the fact that my mum is always going to interfere in my
life and put up a bed in the spare room so she has somewhere comfortable to
sleep while she does it.

"I know you are, Mackenzie," she sighs. "But
my Baby is important to me, and any guy has to get along with him."

I feel my resolve softening. Honestly, I’m tired and I don’t
feel like fighting anymore, and I certainly don’t feel like dating anymore. But
I can’t give up yet. I know I can’t.

Especially as I bought an entire year’s subscription to
Cupid-Waits.com.

CHAPTER 24

Okay, so putting up a profile and
sitting on my hands didn’t bring in any results. It’s time to get serious. It’s
time to get proactive. I’ll search the site myself.

"Wow," Dan says, looking over my shoulder at the
profile on screen. "Forty-five? He’s hoping, isn’t he?"

"You don’t think he’s forty-five?"

"Look at him. He’s sixty if he’s a day."

I laugh. "I was going to email him, he sounds
nice."

"If he thinks he can get away with being forty-five
then he’s obviously delusional."

"Okay, what about this one then?"

Dan reads it out. "
I’m a shy fifty-two year old who
would love to meet a female who enjoys animals, long walks on the beach, and
gardening
."

"Does that ‘animals’ mean he likes animals or he’s in
to bestiality?"

Dan laughs.

"It might be worth a try, I suppose." I add him to
the list of possibilities. "Read this, Dan. Can you believe this
guy?"

"
I am one of the most romantic and sweet blokes
alive. I don’t have to be modest about that. I am a very nice person. I’ll
always listen to what you’re saying, as long as I haven’t heard it before. I am
a sensitive person. A VERY SENSITIVE PERSON. I’ve been known to cry (when I’m
drunk. LOL) I am implicitly trustworthy. TRUSTWORTHY. I am not VIOLENT. It’s
not that I can’t be violent, it’s just that I choose not to be. I am such a
nice man. I don’t think it’s a bad thing not to be modest about that. Most
women say they want a nice man, and here I am, saying that I am a nice man,
honestly. I’m also considered very nice looking. And I am TRUSTWORTHY and NON-VIOLENT.
You should remember that
."

"Is it just me, or is there something incredibly not
trustworthy or sensitive about a person who doesn’t believe in modesty and has
to shout about it in capital letters?"

Dan is laughing.

Seriously, who told men that women like this kind of
bragging? I would never email a guy with an ad like that. Would any woman? Is
there any woman on earth who would think that guy is actually being honest? The
fact that he says "I am not violent," (in capital letters, no less)
would put me off straight away. I mean, it’s a natural assumption that a
majority of men aren’t violent anyway. You don’t need to announce it to the
world in caps lock. And repeat it. Along with the
trustworthy
and
sensitive
parts. It’s a pretty safe bet that any guy who has to tell you he's trustworthy
and sensitive numerous times in caps lock probably isn’t either of those
things.

"Read this one," Dan says when he’s finished
laughing.

"
Rock star wannabe seeks Pamela Anderson look-a-like.
Blonde hair necessary, or be willing to bleach it. DD cup size and over only
."

"Who do these men think they are?" I ask. "Do
they think the internet is like a drive through and they can just put their
orders in and collect at the other end?"

Some of the profiles I’m reading are horrible. I wonder if
the men who placed them will soon be hassling Cupid-Waits for their money back
because they’ve got no dates. It’s pretty much a given that no woman is ever
going to respond to these fine examples.

"
No lies. I have long hair, tattoos and a beer
belly. I’m a fifty-one year old male. If you like the straightforward approach,
then approach me. I won’t bite unless you ask me to
." I’m glad he
clarified his gender, because I was really beginning to think that he was a
long haired, tattooed, beer bellied
female
.

"
I’m a fit and healthy forty year old male, and I
would like to find a disabled female to spend the rest of my life with
."
Doesn’t even justify a comment.

"
Fifty seven-year old dad of nine children. I’m
looking for a mother to have my tenth child
." There you go, a
"here’s one I made earlier" family, right out of the box.

"
I’m too good to be true. Fifty-one, caring,
romantic, sensitive, sexy, funny, six foot five. And everything is in proportion,
if you know what I mean
." Clearly your height is in proportion to your
ego.

"
My body is the eighth wonder of the world, and the
eighth deadly sin put together. I want one lucky female to share it with
."
I should imagine you’re also the eighth biggest jerk in the country, seeing as
I’ve already met the other seven of them.

"
I’m Tarzan to your Jane. I want vine swinging, rope
climbing, mind blowing sex and more
." I wonder if he turns up on dates
wearing only a leaf? That is, providing he ever gets any dates, obviously.

"
I’m a nineteen year old student, and I want a sixty
plus grey haired woman for a serious relationship
." Can we all say
mother issues?

"
I’m forty-five years old, cute, and I want to meet
a forty year old, red headed, blue eyed, size ten lady with a C cup size.
Nothing else will be considered
." They really put those orders in,
don’t they?

But there is a light at the end of the internet tunnel.
Possibly. There are some semi-decent sounding profiles that I’ve read through
and sent messages to.

"
Dog lover, fifty-seven. I want to meet a fifty to
sixty aged female, to wine, dine and enjoy life with
."

"
Heart of gold male, fifty-two. I like watching
DVDs, musical theatre, and long walks in the countryside. I want a lovely lady
of a similar age to share these things with
."

"
I’m a fifty-six year old farmer seeking a wife.
Nice house and lots of land are yours if you are an easy going, animal lover
."
Apart from bringing back many memories of the primary school song "The
Farmer Wants a Wife" this one sounds pretty promising.

"
Youthful but mature fifty-year-old, seeks a woman
for fun and commitment. Race/age/size/looks unimportant
." With all the
other ads demanding size tens with DD cups, it’s nice to read one who realises it
doesn’t matter.

"
Lonely fifty year old, shy at first but easy going
and good company, seeks similar female for a serious relationship
."

"
Worldly male, sixty-three, seeks an outgoing fifty
to sixty year old for companionship and company on many trips abroad
."
Not to sound cruel or anything, but how many trips is that exactly? I mean, if
Eleanor is abroad, she’s not going to be popping round at
Eastenders
time, right?

"
Hopeless romantic fifty year old seeking my soul
mate. I’m a laid back animal lover with a dry sense of humour, five cats and
four dogs
." You see? Couldn’t be more perfect if he tried.

Seven. A whole seven possibilities. At least one has got to
warrant a second, and possibly even third, date. Haven’t they? Admittedly some
sound better than others. Like the
hopeless romantic with a large collection
of dogs and cats
. I hope he emails me back. He sounds good. I have a good
feeling about this one.

CHAPTER 25

The first guy responds almost
immediately. This is "
Dog lover, fifty seven. I want to meet a fifty to
sixty year old female, to wine, dine and enjoy life with
." I don’t
waste any time in setting up a date. I’m getting desperate here, and this one
is as promising as any.

The following night I'm in Belisana, and this is the first
of a string of dates I’ve got scheduled this week. Five of the seven guys
emailed back within a few hours. I have one set for tomorrow night, one on
Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday are free, then another date on Friday, and the
"
hopeless romantic
" next Saturday. I still have an
unexplainable good feeling about him.

But, tonight is "
dog lover
," bound to go
down well with my mum.

"Hello." He smiles and stands up when I reach the
table. "I’m Russ."

"Mackenzie," I say, shaking his proffered hand.

He looks a little like Rob Lowe, but older and with more
grey hair. I realise that I am not being very successful when it comes to
finding men with my mother’s preferred tall and blond looks, but what does she
expect me to do? I just have to hope that if the right guy comes along, Mum
won’t mind if he doesn’t look like Kevin Costner.

"I like this place," Russ says, as the waitress
leaves with our orders. "I’ve been here a few times."

I nod. "It’s very cosy."

"Yeah."

"So," I say. "Have you had many responses to
your profile on the website?"

"Two. Three including you."

"And it didn’t work out?"

"One only got as far as email, and even though I did
meet the other one, she was witty and very funny online, and as it turned out,
dull as dishwater in real life."

"Oh dear."

"Indeed. But I did meet someone last night. A friend of
mine had a dinner party, and there was this woman there. I’d never seen her
before, but my friend said she’d just moved in across the street from him, so
he invited her because she doesn’t know anyone in the area yet."

"Oh right," I say, wondering where this is going.
"So, did you talk to her?"

"Briefly. I was a little nervous, but I managed to
refill her drink and give her my business card. I offered to give her a tour of
Bristol so she didn’t get lost."