As mentioned in my recent post, I haven’t spent time on the dating sites lately. The only active subscription I have is eHarmony — I let the others end with no regret. š
Last night I decided to log in out of morbid curiosity. Truly. I was watching a true crime documentary about couples who met online and one wound up deceased. š³ I wasn’t looking for trouble. Just … looking.
Updating my profile and photos landed a message in my inbox, and at 5am I was greeted with …
If youāve been wondering where Iāve been, allow me to assure you: I did not fall in love, run away to Scotland, or get abducted by a man with a fish photo and unearned confidence.
I moved.
Which means my life recently consisted of cardboard boxes, donation piles, sore muscles, and that specific kind of exhaustion where even your thoughts need a nap.
Proof that fresh starts donāt have to be perfect to be meaningful. š”āØ
But thereās another reason for the quiet. I stopped looking at the apps. Not dramatically. Not with my own personal declaration of independence. I justā¦ didnāt open them.
And friends, let me tell you something shocking: Nothing bad happened. No missed soulmate notifications. No algorithm-induced heartbreak. No urgent need to evaluate a manās relationship with punctuation, hats, or freshwater bass.
Abs fade. Fish rot. Bathroom selfies are forever.
Instead, I unpacked. I breathed. I laughed at things that didnāt involve a dating profile promising āhot funā like it was a Groupon.
And when I did peek back in recently? Oh, my stars and garters.
The apps were exactly as I left them.
Still confidently delivering men who: ā ļøThink āchemistryā is something you spray on ā ļøBelieve three-word profiles count as a personality ā ļøAre one midnight message away from a public safety announcement ā ļøLook like they accidentally photo-bombed a picture of their bathroom sinks
Meanwhile, the ads have escalated. š Everywhere I look is a suspiciously ripped silver fox who absolutely does not exist, staring into the camera like an AI Romeo.
Well, maybe like Romeo’s AI grandpa.
At some point I had to ask myself: Is this datingā¦ or performance art? š¤
So consider this post a reset. No pressure. No promises. No pretending Iāve been āactively lookingā when Iāve actually been actively choosing peace, furniture placement, and sleep.
Menopause & Malarkey isnāt going anywhere. Red Flag Friday will return. Mischief Monday is stretching and hydrating.
Iām still here. Still observant. Still amused. Just a little more unpacked ā literally and figuratively.
Menopause & Malarkey 