Back at the apartment, Daisy logged on to the dating site and gave Mia a demonstration.
“Here. Have a look at this.”
Hi, are you beautiful and fun? If the answer’s yes, I’m the man for you. Not only am I loads of fun, but I’m also charming and passionate . . .
“Sorry, no match, Hervé51, since I’m ugly and boring . . . Seriously, though, where do they come up with this crap? And look,” she went on, “here it shows the guys who have visited your profile.”
A new window opened, and Daisy scrolled through the roster of potential suitors.
“This one describes himself as calm, and I believe him—it looks like he smoked a bong before taking the picture! And it was taken in an Internet café, of all places . . . how reassuring. And look at this one:I’m looking for someone to pose for me . . .Please, say no more.”
She moved on down the list.
“That one looks okay,” said Mia.“Never married, adventurous, executive, likes music, going to restaurants.”
“Not so fast, check this bit out,” said Daisy, pointing out another line: “I’ll bet you a bag of Kinders that you read my profile all the way to the bottom.You can take your chocolates and shove them, Dandy26.”
“And what are those over there?” Mia asked.
“The profiles automatically selected by the site. Based on what you enter about yourself, they have compatibility algorithms that suggest matches for you. It’s the digital equivalent of a matchmaker, with a dash of chance.”
“Let’s try it!”
Other profiles appeared, some of them provoking huge gales of laughter. Mia paused on one of them.
“Hang on, that one looks interesting. Look!”
Mia bent over the screen.
“Hmm . . . ,” Daisy said.
“What’s wrong with him?”
“Novelist?”
“So? That’s not a bad thing.”
“I’d like to see what he’s published first. Any guy who claims he’s a writer and is still working on typing the first page of his novel is the type of guy who takes a dozen acting classes and suddenly he’s Kevin Spacey, or who fiddles around with three chords on a guitar and now he’s John Lennon. They’re just looking for a sucker to bail them out while they marinate in the juices of their artistic careers. And believe me, there are lots of those guys around.”
“I think you’re being extremely harsh. And cynical. Also, for your information,Itook acting classes myself.”
“Maybe, but I’ve been out with a few of those losers. Although I must admit your writer here does look like a nice guy from the picture, with those three huge sticks of cotton candy . . . He must have three kids.”
“Either that or one giant sweet tooth!”
“Well, I guess I’ll let you get back to preparing for ‘your role.’ I have to go set up the lunch shift.”
“Wait a second. That little envelope icon and the speech balloon under the photo . . . what are those?”
“The envelope contains any messages he sends you. And that speech balloon, if it’s green, means you can connect to chat with him. But don’t start messing with that, and certainly not from my computer. There are also certain . . . codes and customs you should know about.”
“Like what?”
“If he asks you to meet him at a café in theearlyevening, it means he’s hoping to get laid first, then eat dinner afterward. If he mentions ‘restaurant,’ that might be better, but you have to find out where he lives. If it’s less than five hundred yards from the place he’s chosen, that tells you a lot about his intentions. If he doesn’t order a starter, he’s a cheapskate. If he ordersforyou, he’s a super-cheapskate. If he just talks about himself for the first fifteen minutes, run for your life. If he mentions his ex within the first half hour, he’s not over her. If he starts digging around with questions about your past, he’s the jealous type. If he asks you about your short-term plans, he’s trying to gauge if you’ll sleep with him that night. If he keeps checking his mobile, he’s got several prospects going at once. If he tells you how unhappy he is, he’s looking for a mother, not a lover. If he goes on and on about the wine he chose and how great it is, he’s a show-off. If he tries splitting the bill, chivalry is dead and so are his chances of a second date. And if he says he’s forgotten his credit card, your Romeo might just be a con artist.”
“And us? Are there rules for what we’re supposed to say or not say?”
“Us?”
