oh, no, don't let the rain come in

It all started because I had a leak in my roof one night. Well, actually, not a leak. A river of water that started as a stream out of my ceiling fan/light fixture and quickly became a waterfall across the bedroom. My landlord came over at daylight to look at it, surveyed the damage and my state of mind, and proposed we go to lunch. As we were walking to the restaurant--having abandoned her car due to debris in the road from the storm--she mentioned that her church had recently had a speaker from an online dating site which she thought I might like to try. No, not because I was so pathetic. But because it did a personality test and then matched you scientifically with another person. See, that's the key. It's not just hormones and first impressions. It's work, people. And that makes it real.

"So, I'm that big into science, eh?"

"No, no. But you're kind of logical and focused and I thought you would appreciate this approach. You don't have to pay for it unless you want to contact one of the guys. It might be fun."

"OK. But I have to ask: why did this guy come to your church?"

"Well, the guy who started it is a Christian and wants people to get married. But! But!", she said as I rolled my eyes, "it's not like it's a bunch of fundies. You will like it I think."

So, late one Saturday night a few weeks later, after a hellish week at the office, I came to find myself at www.marriageworks.com. And 90 minutes later, after screens and screens of questions like:

Put these in order:

A. hypothermia
B. extension cord
C. laundry
D. broccoli

I had a 10 page "personal profile". And in the morning I had my first 10 matches.

how it all began

“I had a great time with you last night, and it was especially nice to be able
to call you when I got home and talk to you again. We will do that again.
When works for you?

I should also tell you – because I am not sure that you noticed – that I wear
hair socially. That’s right: I’m a social wearer. I don’t feel comfortable
without it in most situations, and since I am used to wearing a wig when
I’m at work, this also makes me feel more comfortable when I am off-duty. I hope you don’t mind.”

“You hope I ‘don’t mind’! Sweet Mother of God!” was all I could muster in response.

Heads popped up all along the warren of cubicles at my office. It was just as well. Everyone knew that I’d had that date last night, but I’d been so frantic trying to so the 18327294 things that Sandra, my boss, had voice-mailed me to complete before she arrived at the office that no one had dared come by to get details. For all they knew I was muttering about of those things. I’d let that impression remain for a bit. Because it was going to take a long time to tell them about my date with the wig-wearing, toupee-doffing, Bob Jones University-attending, Revelation-obsessed divorce.