I didn’t want to give the impression that I was already taken or that my kids were my entire personality. I mean, they were, but that wasn’t the sort of information I wanted to advertise right out of the gate.
Eventually, I stumbled upon a picture Tegan had snapped of me last Christmas. I was wearing a rust-colored sweater I’d knit myself, a black skirt, and a pair of pumps that matched my sweater. My ruby red hair was streaked with gray and piled high on top of my head in a messy bun, my freshly cut bangs just barely touching the rim of my glasses. Even though the photo was a year old, it was recent enough that I still looked the same. And in the words of my daughter,like a total babe.
“Let’s see here,” I mumbled to myself as I uploaded my profile picture and scanned the categories.
Employment.
Well, I was retired, which was fairly uncommon at my age, but I supposed it was best not to lie about it.
Education.
That one stung. I always wanted to go to college, but between Don and the kids, it wasn’t in the cards for me. Let’s just go with ‘some college’. Surely, the pottery class I took at the local community college counted assomething.
Location.
Briar Glenn, of course. I was well aware of who was available to date here, so I selected a radius that would include the three neighboring towns.
About me.
Hmm.
Do you include that you’re widowed in your profile? What kind of vibe does that give off? What if they think I’m some sort of black widow, meeting males on dating apps and murdering them once my name is listed as the beneficiary on their insurance policy?
Gods, I'd been listening to way too many true crime podcasts.
I tapped a manicured nail against the glass of my phone, pondering what else to say about myself. This was always so difficult.
Ultimately, I decided to go with:
Widowed. Knitter. Avid reader of romance books. Film buff. Former wedding cake baker and pastry shop owner. Mom to two amazing adult children (and one hairless cat). Looking for companionship with the potential for something more.
Sweet and concise.
Just like me.
Remi ambled back in from the kitchen and jumped on my lap as I set the age range for acceptable matches.
“What do you think, Rem? Should I open it up to younger men? Is sixty too old? I mean forty is the new thirty, so fifty must be the new forty, making sixty the new fifty. I’m fifty-four, so it’s only a six-year age difference.”
The tiny, wrinkled gremlin stared up at me, his wide eyes unblinking.
“Alright, sixty it is.”
Was I really one of those people who stayed at home and asked their cat rhetorical questions?
The answer was yes, yes I was.
Once I’d set the parameters for appropriate matches, I watched eagerly as a loading bar flashed across the screen. This was the part I was most excited about. I’d heard about the swiping and I was anxious to experience it for myself.
The first profile suggested for me was a human man in his late forties. He was cute, but according to his bio, he was in an open relationship.
I admired folks who could do open relationships, but it wasn’t my style. Even though I was looking for something casual, I wasn’t too keen on sharing a partner. Apparently, all those years of monogamy had really done a number on me.
Photo after photo passed on the screen as I swiped left on pretty much every profile. Humans, monsters—none of them drew me in.
Until a candid shot of a curly-haired minotaur caught my attention.
His hair was a light cream color, full of cowlicks that curled in all different directions. A set of ridged, deep brown horns curled overtop of his head, running across his fluffy eyebrows and connecting above his snout. His dusty pink nose was adorned with a shiny gold ring, the type you’d commonly see on a bull. A buffalo plaid shirt stretched across his wide chest, with a tuft of hair sprinkled with grays sticking out from beneath the unbuttoned collar.
