He messaged me; I looked at his profile before answering and saw there was something in it that could be une petite quelque chose we might be able to talk about - a mutual interest, let’s call it. The picture, on the other hand, was definitely more inclined to this. I should have been alerted further, however, by his job: a psychiatric nurse.
Anyway, I replied politely though succinctly so as not to overly encourage. Almost immediately he wrote back with what would have been around two pages of A4, and most of it, it has to be said, semi-drivel with hardly any punctuation, so it was totally unintelligible. I skip read it and resolved to do the decent thing and reply eventually... at some stage.
Three days later I managed to get round to it – just a few words in acknowledgement of the fact that he too is a (some kind of) human being kind of thing.
Whoa! Oh dear! The man has clearly been a psychiatric nurse for far too long (if that’s the truth anyway) because as far as I can see he’s been infected by every mental disorder listed in the DSM. His message back to me was quite unnerving. He was quite miffed that I had taken so long to reply because he is already madly in love with me, is so besotted he can’t stop looking at my photos, immediately wants to 'bed' and 'shower me with pleasures unknown' and, to cap it all, I’m exactly the woman he wants to be his Mrs.
Our Father, who art in Internet Heaven, give me this day just one nice, normal, not too old, not too young, not too clever, not too stupid, solvent, educated, amusing guy, and if you could make him a minimum of four inches taller than me and prettier than Jack Nicholson in the Shining that would be a massive bonus. Amen.