Sunday, 27 June 2010

The incredible shrinking man

You may recall last week I was appalled to discover that potential interweb datee Cash and Carry was a signed-up, card-carrying member of a rather tawdy Russian-bride website. I urge you to check this site out, by the way. However - I must give a government health warning: those with dairy allergies beware: in terms of cheese content this is certainly XXX rated.

Well, this week my integrity has been questioned online by McFireman, he has complained that he is being grossly misrepresented on the pages of Parma Violet Tea. You may check out his spurious allegations here . Of course, you all know that Miss Underscore, Cassandra-like, speaks only the truth. Admittedly though, it is the truth filtered through my slightly befuddled and emotionally autistic brain.

But, I would say this to you, McFireman.

Those in Emma Bridgewater china shops really shouldn't throw stones.

I am utterly perplexed as to how your age, on the interweb dating site, has magically dwindled from 49 to 39!!! Last week you were 49, today you are 39. How is that possible? Have you bought some magic beans from a Glaswegian crone? Will you be 29 next week? How about that for gross misrepresentation of the truth!

I do recall in your online profile you originally specified that you were looking for someone between the ages of 20-40. So, a girl 29 years younger than you was acceptable. A woman of 41 (still 8 years younger than you) was 'past it'. Incredible. I blogged about that at the time, remember this? I was confounded as to why a man of the male gender would even consider dating someone young enough to be his daughter.

Does this mean that I have to date a man twice my age? If I am to be betrothed to an octogenarian then please lord make him a Texan oil billionaire. One with a dicky-ticker. I could almost picture myself as a North Eastern Anna Nicole Smith.

McFireman - maybe you need to check out www. too! I am sure you will find a compliant, sweet-natured Russian girl to deep fry your Mars Bars. You could dip them in borscht.

(Sigh) I really am beginning to despair of all men. Rochester too has bewildered me this week. Since suggesting we meet up for a drink he has been as silent as the grave. This week I received an email so odd that it left my head well and truly fucked. It said, simply,

'I can't make you happy. Sorry. I can't.'

I have no idea what inspired such a random proclamation. Even odder, the contrary cove then went on to suggest Matisse as an artist that my class of guppy-brained chavettes may enjoy studying. He even helpfully posted a link to a great Matisse for Kids website. On Friday he was inspired to add his first ever comment on Parma Violet Tea.

Rochester. You ARE a cunt. But you are also quite mistaken by saying you can't make me happy - your terse, cynical, dry and utterly Rochester-esque remark on here did indeed make me smile.

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