My fingers hover over the keyboard, spread as if they are spiders who are confused on how to make a web.
I'm resting at the forefront of my dating regime, at a desk in my apartment trying to think of something about me that the members of this gay dating site need to know. Ironically, this part of the initiation is the hardest.
The sign-up was easy for my adaptive computer technology that robotically tells me everyone's messages, height, and weight as I use the keyboard to navigate. Uploading a picture is a kind of fun few will experience as a visually impaired individual, and browsing men who are looking for men proves to be an adventure.
Many profiles dictate little about themselves which leaves me guessing. Others are so detailed I can get a good picture of them, but I haven't filled out the "about me" section, until today. What should I say?
There weren't any words In images I had to type to verify my identity, there weren't any advertisements sprinkled into a profile detailing a guy who likes to pretend to fly with toy airplanes. Everything is smooth like melted butter until this part in the acquaintance, the about me.
My thought process seems to have a planned detour; as if my brain schemed how it was going to depart at the exact moment I need it to work its magic. First, dictation, then there's deliberation, then debating, then dumbstruck diatribe. My fingers don't move but deductions springs into my mind like a sweptback gymnast.
People will marvel at my eloquence for words upon first glance so this will whisk me up to an 80% on the attraction slider. When they talk with me verbally however, I'm sure the stammer will jab me down to 45%.
When people read that I have a white cane my dating chances will shoot down to 30%. I know this figure based on experience. To boost my score perhaps I should entice them first with facts about my journalism work where I detail LGBT news and issues, and couple that with my obsessive love for mint chocolate chip ice cream and pony rides. If I do that my percentage will shoot up to 45% because everybody loves chocolate ice cream way before mint.
If I say I passionately read books I believe that will drop my percentage to 40% because that's a boring passion and I will be metaphorically studying every thought and action people have so I think I will leave that out.
If I say that I enjoy long walks on the beach I'll have scored a whammy without even needing to mention that I can't walk that far before my muscles complain because they have exercised past their patience level, gauging the percentage between 75% and 65%. no one wants to carry a blind wordsmith through the sand but it would definitely make a nice Christmas card.
My hobbies will definitely bring my dating percentage up but transportation will nudge it back down again like tight jeans. Scheduling rides 24 hours in advance to everything from plays, to restaurants, to sports games, to theme parks, and movies makes the percentage quiver at 85%.
Surely the understanding that I sustain my own life and apartment would pivot me above 90%. It'd lift me up to 98% because men like other men who have it together but the supportive living label will make me drop again. People always get skittish when they hear that the clothes I bought with money I've earned from work are washed by a certified nurse's assistant in an apartment complex that houses 87 blind adults. This scares them a lot so I'm dropped to 90%.
With all of these factors deciding how attractive I am, I try to determine the best way for me to outweigh all those scary stamps attached to my many good traits. The wonderment doesn't last long as my fingers soon dance over the keys with precise confidence. I explain a factor that will rocket me up on the attractive meter. I'm lovingly assertive and love talking cats. Without a doubt the talking cats halts me at 100%.