I’m Willing to Lie about How We Met ©

Stage four of being single is when your nearest and dearest get fixated on you finding Mr. Right or at least Mr. Right Now.

It turns out that all my friends know someone that has met his significant other on the Internet. Are these people real or are they urban myths?

Fact! Six thirty on Friday evening, outside any major Tube station in London there are countless “couples” meeting for the first time with the assistance of this new baby Cupid.
Take a closer look. They shake hands; women do the bashful downward looking smile and men scan their date’s body when they think she’s not looking. The daring ones share a kiss on the cheek. They’re obviously not British. The British will attempt a kiss later with the courage “firewater” brings about.

Most of these encounters will go no further than a fist date. Some of them might become stories people share in the pub. Their friends will laugh and volunteer the obligatory: “Noooooooo??? Really? Who does that?”

If, however I was to consider this electronic Matchmaker there was only one question that concerned me: “Where did you two meet?”

I’ll never be able to say: “Deep Sea diving in the Caribbean.
I was coming out of the water holding some rare shells I just collected, singing “Mango tree”. There he stood, bronzed and gorgeous underneath a coconut tree at the water’s edge.
He sang it back, we locked eyes, felt a current of electricity run through our bodies and in that moment we knew it was meant to be”.

Don’t put your eyes up to heaven! Some little girls grew up reading about Prince Charming coming to rescue them on a white charger. I grew up watching James Bond. Far handier in a sticky situation. He packs lead (I couldn’t help myself), is athletic, well travelled, drinks Dom Perignon and looks like Sean Connery. He has a funny accent but I decided long ago that this is something I'm willing to overlook.

You have to admit its better then: “He “winked” at me on the dating site we were both members of and then he invited me to join him on a chat portal”

I finally had to cave in when Athena, Artemis and Ira all came to my house and tricked me into posting my profile on one of these sites with the power of Martini cocktails (shaken not stirred).
They argued that it’s not where you meet but who you meet. And hey, if I did find Mr. Right we could go to the Caribbean together. Right?
Hell, I could even buy Ursula Andress’s Dr. No bikini. Apparently it was on the news that she had just found it in her attic after all these years and would be auctioning it off.

I have to admit it was a very funny night and it helped to have semi-drunken people around while I wrote the little paragraphs about my ideal partner and me.
One thing they could not change my mind about was my user name.

I registered as: I’m willing to lie about how we met.