Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 137135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
“God, how horrible would that feel, to find out that, out of hundreds, you’re just the lone loser who actually took the bait?” I mumble, swallowing more sweet wine.
Also, if they go searching to find out who I am, they’ll be able to see I really am an author and being truthful in my profile, and not someone who’s catfishing, just pretending to be an author doing research. Because just like Vi said, if a guy really were looking for someone interesting to hold an intelligent conversation with, having Novelist as one’s occupation would definitely catch their attention, so I’m sure it’s been faked before.
After all, just like at Club Alias, I have nothing to hide. Not only am I doing research for my book idea, but I am a single woman who’s finally ready to get to know someone new, as long as it’s not complicated. And from what I’ve heard, online dating isn’t as taboo as it used to be. It seems like it’s the first option any single person chooses when they decide they want to try dating. And I totally understand that.
You feel much safer behind your computer screen than you do putting yourself out there and approaching someone in person, like at a bar or at the club or even at the garden center. I know I personally speak pretty much effortlessly when typing my words rather than when I’m trying to speak them. When Art and I would get in our little tiffs, it wasn’t uncommon for me to go silent vocally, then work things out with him over text messages, even if I was just in the next room.
Call it childish, immature, whatever. But there is just something in me that cuts off my ability to speak with my actual voice sometimes. Yet as soon as my fingers hit the keys, all the words in my head align, and I’m able to get everything I want to say across in an articulate and eloquent way. Some people would call me a keyboard warrior, but that’s not true. Keyboard warriors are jerks who would never say the shit to someone’s face that they’re only brave enough to say with the knowledge they’ll never meet them in person. I am not a troll. Anything I say with my fingers on keys, I wouldn’t hesitate to print out and read aloud to the person’s face.
When the circle on my screen finally closes, indicating the very second my picture is uploaded and my profile has been published to the site, the little envelope icon at the top of the page immediately dings with three messages. I click on it and see the first one is a welcome message from the site. The other two are from male members who couldn’t have had the chance to do anything but see my photo.
“If they even saw that. They could have it set up to auto-send a message to any new profiles. Or maybe the ones that fit a specific browsing criteria,” I murmur, my lip curled in disgust. I immediately click the Xs next to both of their names, getting the heebs at the idea of being just another random profile amidst thousands.
Call me old fashioned, but I at least want to feel a little bit special.
“Is it too much to ask for someone to at least read my About Me before they send me a message asking what I’m up to tonight?” I ask my cat, Kronk, as he comes out from where he was hiding and hops up on the couch next to me. He allows me three swipes of my hand from his head to the end of his tail before he bats me away and curls up on the pillow. “Already, I’ve got a sour taste in my mouth, and I haven’t even been on the site for thirty seconds.”
I know some women would be thrilled to have gotten results so quickly, but for me, I feel only bitterness. Which is strange, because I didn’t even feel bitter toward my ex-husband when we decided to get a divorce. So to get the sour taste out of my mouth, I take another sip of my wine, discovering I must’ve been drinking it without consciously doing so, because I have to tilt it way back in order to get the last ounce from the bottom of the glass.
Without looking away from my screen as I start scrolling through the browsing options, I reach over and grab the wine bottle next to me. I have to stop scrolling in order to unscrew the cap and pour myself another glass, this one not as full as the last one, being careful since my laptop is open. With my glass in hand, I decide to start narrowing down my search just for fun. I choose that I am only interested in males, and I slide the scale for the person to be at least my age but don’t pick a limit for how old.