Marriage Proposal

I received a proposal of marriage, oh, about two months ago already. This was in earnest, despite the fact that I was proposed to over the Instant Messaging function of an Internet dating site.

I was an addict of said dating site off and on for about three years. Imagine a lab rat hitting a bar to receive a bit of cheese, and every once in a random while a crumb of cocaine. I logged in daily – no, that’s a lie – I logged in at least three times a day to make sure Prince Charming hadn’t sent me any free “smiles” or anted up the cash to send me an actual e-mail. Usually no one did. But one time I hit the bar and the most gorgeous visiting professor of philosophy popped out. Of course, there was also the time I received a miniature church organist, but it’s the rush of the philosopher I feel compelled to try to replicate.

Before work one morning, I logged on and the blue instant message light started blinking like a K-mart special. The spelling and grammar had a non-native speaker quality about them. “Wow,” he said (or typed). “You are so preety for me.” What unwashed Midwestern woman in flannel pajamas at 7:25 in the morning wouldn’t be flattered? His name is M., and he thinks I’m a nice “lday.” Suddenly I’m awake without my usual mug of weapons-grade black British tea. Hey, this could be the one.

Clicking on his profile, I saw that his idea of romance includes love poems and that he enjoys his pet in his spare time. Literate and likes animals – so far, so good. He has a university education. He is 30 years old, slim, and wants kids. Perfect!

He also “lives approximately 5,430 miles from your home,” in Lagos, Nigeria.

Maybe I should invest in a web cam. Maybe my twisted wire grimace would have deterred him from typing “r u married?”

Is there a right answer to this question? If I say “Yes” to dodge him, I’ll be accused of being among the 30% of people on Internet dating sites who are married. How about the truth? “No,” I typed.

Wrong answer. “i can marry u,” he volunteers. And leave warm, sunny Nigeria for Michigan, halfway to the North Pole? “No,” I typed, actually feeling guilty entering those two keystrokes. I was breaking up with him already and moving on.

“i can come.” Now I’m paralyzed. Why do I always get the tenacious ones?
“i can stay with u.” I don’t answer. I’m getting my socks out of the drawer.
“why no?” he finally typed.

Seconds tick off the clock. Why no, indeed? Why can’t love really be as easy as simply saying, “Yes?” Aren’t literature and history filled with couples drawn together in the strangest ways? Don’t we all know some happy pair, partnered for years, who went to get the marriage license on their third date? And isn’t this part of the allure of Internet dating, that the One is out there and all you need do is fill out the questionnaire and set your search criteria to have him or her delivered to your inbox, heralded by a flashing blue button?

I am unable to make the leap. I plop back into the chair and slay my virtual suitor by telling him we don’t know each other, and never will. I still check my account every once in a while, though I've pretty much weaned myself from the habit. M. is still out there, logging on, looking, and probably proposing to my downstairs neighbor right now.