Love on the South End was never a bowl of cherries. You try to woo a prospective mate after she\u2019s set eyes on 8 foot tall killer nettles menacing the front door, you\u2019ll see what I mean. Course, the Rottweiler barking all night from its pen next to the neighbor\u2019s travel trailer which no longer travels, the one Mr. Dog Lover lives in with the hound chained close by for affection or protection, that doesn\u2019t endear new girlfriends to the neighborhood either.<\/p>\n
Most of my single friends have about given up on the local scene. They\u2019ve dated every yahoo, unemployed or otherwise, down at the Hotel Watering Hole and Dating Service, and those memories they\u2019d like to forget. Or at least suppress. I know. I had to mail order my bride. She probably sensed the muted desperation in my throb-filled love letters, but she took pity, I guess, on an old hermit. I sure didn\u2019t mention the banjos. Or the ivy holding up the shack walls. Or the well on its last legs with an ancient piston pump wheezing and gasping just to haul up a glass of water. Love, I knew, would overcome all those drawbacks.<\/p>\n
Course we were younger then, still \u2018marketable\u2019. My friends, my single friends, have grown a bit longer in the tooth. Some are missing teeth. More than a few have turned to internet dating to meet future partners, figuring, I guess, the \u2018pool\u2019 around here has grown shallow with mostly only geezers fossilizing in the puddles. Now they got a pool of millions of prospective mates to choose from. Just sort through the criterion, run the data and preferences, make allowance for some creative exaggeration, then set up a date. \u201cNon-smoker, loves to walk the beach at sunset, enjoys good literature, would rather snuggle than watch TV, loves puppies and quiet conversations.\u201d True translation: psychopath, possible killer. \u201cFit, but could lose 5 pounds, enjoys an occasional glass of merlot, young at heart.\u201d Translation: obese nursing home escapee.<\/p>\n
Fat chance of finding an honest person in the era of Facebook selfies. The mizzus is counting her lucky stars, but our friends — Mr. Right is fudging the facts. He\u2019s balding, morbidly obese, 15 years too old, drinks until he blacks out, watches any sporting even on TV day or night, eats exclusively Doritos and beer nuts and has the conversational equivalency of Cheetah the ape and a literary proficiency that stalled with Archie and Jughead. He wants mostly to get laid, then left in peace with his TV show. He is, if you haven\u2019t guessed, 6 farts shy of being a heart throb.<\/p>\n
Love is an elusive realm. It takes a lot of compromise to share a life, a whole entire life. With a person who has faults and idiosyncracies that have to mesh somehow with your own. And on top of that there\u2019s the cultural overlay of physical beauty and \u2026 well, physical beauty mostly. And sex. Let\u2019s not even go there, the rest is hard enough. Although for the guys, the rest is sort of superfluous.<\/p>\n
I know this isn\u2019t exactly an Advice Column and by now you know any advice I got is seriously suspect anyway, but \u2026 for those who still believe the AM radio bubble gum pop song notion of True Love, don\u2019t give up. But DO keep in mind, bad love is worse than no love. I\u2019ve had my vaccination of bad love. Loneliness usually won\u2019t make you miserable. Or cynical. Or suicidal. But love gone south \u2026 love on the rocks \u2026 love turned sour and rancid and mean? Be choosy is all I\u2019m saying….<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Love on the South End was never a bowl of cherries. You try to woo a prospective mate after she\u2019s set eyes on 8 foot tall killer nettles menacing the front door, you\u2019ll see what I mean. Course, the Rottweiler barking all night from its pen next to the neighbor\u2019s travel trailer which no longer […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_feature_clip_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[6],"tags":[5424,5206,5423],"class_list":["post-16414","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-rantings-and-ravings","tag-bad-dates-bad-marriages","tag-internet-dating","tag-south-end-dating"],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.skeeterdaddle.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16414","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.skeeterdaddle.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.skeeterdaddle.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.skeeterdaddle.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.skeeterdaddle.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=16414"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/www.skeeterdaddle.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16414\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":16460,"href":"https:\/\/www.skeeterdaddle.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16414\/revisions\/16460"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.skeeterdaddle.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=16414"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.skeeterdaddle.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=16414"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.skeeterdaddle.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=16414"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}