why – Menopause & Malarkey

Some nights, the date-iverse is too much to handle.

Scratch that.

MOST nights of seeking a genuine connection via dating apps in 2025 are uninspired.

I have reached the point where I don’t visit the Kmart clearance rack of poor punctuation and shirtless shenanigans unless I receive a notification. (Hmm, wonder if I can assign an ominous tone to it 🤔) But, I digress.

In four days, my subscription to Chapter 2 (a site specifically for widows and widowers) will expire. I shan’t be renewing. Not that I have anything against the site; I’m just, well, tired.

Four days until the finish line.

Still plenty of time for interested suitors to come a-callin’.

So when a message popped up, I took a gander at his profile.

Scott.
Nice-looking Scott.
Normal-message Scott.
Potentially trustworthy Scott.
But… Utah Scott.

For the love of GPS.

When you’re the emotional support airplane for a woman who keeps getting matched with men 1,600 miles away.

My reply was polite.

“Thank you, but 1,600 miles isn’t conducive to building a relationship.”

His response, also cordial, carried the aroma of snowflakes, cocoa, and Hallmark. ❄️☕️💕

“If two hearts connect, no distance is too far.”

Sir. I am 55 years old. Driving down the street to Kroger is too far. 🚗🤷🏼‍♀️

As humorous as “Men without Maps” can be, the truth is —

It makes me sad. I find myself sitting here contemplating if a long distance friendship could be possible. But then I ask, what if he’s another scammer with a decent grasp of grammar?

That right there — that exact emotional seesaw — is the honest human cost of dating in 2025.

It’s not just frustration.
It’s not just annoyance.
It’s not even the exhaustion of dodging Keith Sweat disciples, and men whose job title is “Boss at Self-Employed.”

It’s the sadness beneath the snark.
That little ache of:

“What if he’s real?”
versus
“What if he’s not?”

Ladies, if you’re rowing in this boat too, listen up:

You’re not soft for thinking it.
You’re not foolish.
You’re not naïve.
You’re human.
You’ve lost real love.
You’ve lived real life.
You know what connection feels like — and how rare it is.

So when someone shows up sounding…
normal,
kind,
respectful,
gentle,
and not shirtless in front of the bathroom mirror …
your heart can’t help but tilt its head a little.

Because part of you wants to believe a good man might still exist — even if he’s 1,600 miles away, even if he’s just a pleasant blip in the algorithmic chaos.

But then?

The reality of dating in 2025 barges in wearing a name tag, shouting:

“SCAMMER! FLUNKED GEOGRAPHY & CARTOGRAPHY! TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE!”

And you’re left in limbo between hope and heartbreak, without ever having met the man.

It’s the quiet sadness of:

“I don’t want to be played. ”

“I don’t want to be disappointed.”

“I don’t want to waste emotional energy.”

“I don’t want to be fooled.”

“But… what if he was just nice?”

It’s the emotional equivalent of standing at the window watching birds —
one might be beautiful,
but at any moment it could squawk, steal your fries, and fly away.

Still…
there’s something tender in you wanting to believe in friendship.
That’s not weakness.
That’s wisdom wearing softness.
That’s a heart with miles on it — but still open enough to feel.

Ladies… gather ‘round.
Because today’s roast is brought to you by:

Hope.
Disappointment.
And a man who went from “ooh la-la” to “oh no, no” in two seconds flat.

Let me set the scene:
Facebook Dating serves me up a cutie pie. (Who, by the way, was categorized as a “perfect match.”)
Not “eh, he’ll do.”
Not “maybe if the light is forgiving.”

No.
This one was legit cute:

Good smile
Local
Normal hobbies
Age-appropriate
No up-the-nose or on-the-bed selfies
Looked like his mother raised him with soap and manners

I thought,
“Well butter my biscuit and call me hopeful…”

For a few glorious minutes, I believed.

Then—
THEN—

Sir Flirt-a-Lot answered the prompt:

“What’s your favorite time of day?”
with:

✨😏 “SEXY TIME” 😏✨

Right above the “My shades are cool, and my abs are hot” topless beach pic.

SIR.
There I was, enjoying your adorable grin, your puppy photo, your backyard sunshine…
And suddenly you hit me with a whiplash-inducing combo of:

“Look how sweet and normal I am!”
followed immediately by
“HERE ARE MY PECS AND MY INTENTIONS.”

*So close and yet so far … off the mark.*

Let me be extremely clear:

SEXY TIME
…is not a time of day.
It is an ick.
A category.
A hazard.
A sign from the heavens that says:
“Abort mission, Heather. This man has no internal editor.”

You know what it felt like?

Like I ordered a Chick-fil-A sandwich and halfway through found a live scorpion wearing sunglasses. 🕶️

Everything was perfect.
I was rooting for him.
ROOTING.
And then—
like a child in the church Christmas program repeating the cuss word Mommy muttered earlier—
he proudly typed:

SEXY.
TIME.

With the emoji. 😏
THE EMOJI.

I went from:
😌 “Oh wow, what a cutie.”
to
🫠 “Sir, why?”
to
💀 “We cannot date. Ever.”

in 0.4 seconds.

Like… why do they DO this?

Why is it that right when I’m thinking,
“Ohhh, he seems normal,”
a man will suddenly fling out the word SEXY TIME like he chose “Inappropriate Pick-up Lines for 100, Alex” on Jeopardy.

It’s always when you least expect it.

He’s giving:
• Golden Retriever energy
• Family-man vibes
• Would help you carry in the groceries
• Might even remember your birthday

In reality, he’s:
• Answering normal prompts with unnecessary levels of testosterone
• Displaying more sweat and sunscreen than any photo should capture
• Abandoning all filters and foresight
• Utilizing “the ole bait ‘n switch” to perfection

Instant downgrade to:

🏅 Honorable Mention:

The Almost That Absolutely Isn’t.

Because here’s the truth:

A man can look like sweet tea and sunshine…
but if “sexy time” is his favorite time of day?
Sir, you may exit (in true Beyoncé fashion) — to the left, to the left.

Tag: why

Tired Tuesday: The Geographically Challenged

🔥 M&M: The Case of the Almost-Perfect Candidate … Until …

🏅 Honorable Mention: