Look, I’m in my fifties now, and honestly, I can’t do blind dates anymore. I’ve been there, done that, and let me tell you—first dates? They are just not productive. I sit down at some bar with a guy, and he starts talking about himself like I actually care. His last name? Oh, honey, I couldn’t care less. Why are you wasting precious time?
Let me break it down for you: I’ve got my own bedtime (which, yes, is late, but I’ve also got decisions to make—big ones). I’m not about to spend the night listening to his life story when I already know what I want to hear. Time is money, people. We’re not in our twenties anymore, where we could pretend this is cute.
I don’t need his life’s saga. I don’t even need his middle name. I need two things:
- His paycheck
- His…well, let’s call it “physical credentials”
That’s it. That’s the date. One minute. Show them to me before dinner, and we’ll decide if we’re moving forward. Preferably, present them together so I can weigh my options like a real grown-up woman. I mean, I’m in my fifties, I’ve got the whole "pros vs. cons" system down. Gross pay, net pay, gross size, net size—show me the before and after!
You think I’m joking? I am not. If I’m going to take anything home with me, I want to know what I’m dealing with. Otherwise, no thanks! I don’t care how good-looking you are, if you don’t have the goods, both financially and physically, we are not getting past minute two.
So, gentlemen, if you want to save us both some time on these blind dates, give me the real info upfront. The rest is just details I don’t have the energy to care about anymore. Blind dates are canceled—forever.
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