Name-ist

I think you can tell a lot from people's names.

When I was pregnant with Beloved Daughter we came across a name for her which I had never heard of before.  Like Revered Son, it meant she could be named after a famous explorer, and she would be the 'Goddess of Merriment'. 

One of the worst moments of my life came five years later, in Exeter Services, where I stumbled across a green, orange and pink plastic mug with her name all over it.  Succumbing as usual to pester power, I even had to buy the thing. And we've still got it because it won't break!

Most of the people on Times Encounters unsurprisingly have perfectly normal names.  They send me delightful, charming, erudite messages and couldn't be nicer, better looking, more intelligent, or more charming. In fact of the many blind dates I have met, there's only one that I haven't liked.  And no nutters at all, yet, anyway, as far as I can tell.

I've been dying to fall for all of them, but in my heart of hearts, I know straight away that it's not going to work if their name's not right. 

Names starting with 'K', and shortened names, are the general culprits. These people almost always originate from a different tribe to my tiny niche one, and try as I might, there simply isn't enough common ground between us to make for a long term relationship. They won't 'get' or enjoy my world.  In fact they will be stultified with boredom. And at a complete loss as to why I spend such a ridiculous amount of money on school fees, simply to ensure that my children will never fit into the real world as a result.

The other morning, my friends and I chatted for five hours about schools.  When I visited the used-coffee room and surreptitiously checked my watch, it said 1.40pm, so I asked Diana what the real time was, and she said that really was the time.  No swim for me then.

It was my 55th birthday and we were enjoying coffee and birthday brownie-cake complete with those candles that you can't blow out.  In the end we had to dunk the candles in the teapot before they set light to the hotel.

So I'm afraid I now seem to be name-ist, as well as height-ist, fat-ist, thin-ist, and age-ist.  I don't want someone to fall over if I run over to hug them. All of which cuts down my chances of finding true love to almost zero.

The other thing that reduces my success rate is that my potential suitors appear to really object to being lied to!!!

Well you know me.  I am as honest as the day is long - at the North Pole on June 24th. Or is it 21st? 

Until it comes to internet dating profiles.  I put down that I am 49, so that I appear under 'Women aged 40 - 50'.  I also said that I never smoke, whereas you know perfectly well - I like nothing better than sitting musing over problems accompanied by a very occasional supportive Silk Cut.  Although I'm sure I would stop if someone really wanted me to (or if there weren't any problems). Unlike Cava. 

Finally I ticked the boxes for: I have  no sense of humour, I wear bifocals, and I sport a beard.  I thought it was par for the course to make things up on these profiles, but it appears that I am upsetting people when they discover that I havent got facial hair (not that much anyway, yet) after all.  At least my photo is finally up to date!!

And at the end of the day, all I really want is a bloke with a great big huge smile.  Is that so much to ask?!