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Cal Q. Later

March 9, 2008

I’m not the strongest person in the Math department. Personally, I’d rather overpay for my dinner than have to sacrifice the necessary brain cells to figure it out. This is one of the many things that makes me appreciate dining with my many engineer friends. Thank goodness MIT is cranking out smarties with social skills.

That being said, I’m not completely pitiful. Basic math I can handle. Addition, subtraction… I am a pro. Let’s put it to the test with a hypothetical scenario. Let’s say I were to Google a guy I had  been dating. Clearly, I would never engage in such investigative behavior.  Hypothetically, of course, I was curious as to whether I should be concerned about this charming 39 year old gentleman being stuck underneath a heavy object.  The other option: the lapse in contact signaled the ambiguous beginning of a disappearing act.

Just to spice things up, let’s assume that my imaginary search didn’t yield an obituary but I did learn (purely hypothetically, of course) that he graduated from high school in 1982. I might not know immediately why that was fishy but with some scratch paper, carry the one, 23 years since high school graduation plus the median age of a high school senior… I’m certain I’d smell what the rock was cookin’. My boy “Dick Clark” was really a minimum of 41… hypothetically. OK… cat’s out of the bag. All acts of wreaking of desperation listed above are neither fictional nor hypothetical.

This seems like a stupid thing to lie about so, of course, part of me thinks, “Maybe he was a precocious child in an accelerated program and earned college credit while in high school.” Two years?  That’s such a small thing. Why even lie? If you are going to make up something, why not go with a deep sea fishing story, Big Foot siting or something vaguely intriguing.

As with everything else… it became clear to me in time. Two days to be exact. “Dick” had blocked his profile while we were actively seeing one another. In a moment of weakness, I was lamenting the abrupt halt in communication, wondering what had happened. I logged into my match.com account and looked at the last e-mail we had exchanged before he moved to the far away land of RI for the summer. I noticed that he had already changed his location and given his age a closer shave. Apparently, fudging about two years was really a warm up for listing his age as THIRTY FIVE. At this rate, he’ll be six years old by Fall and will need to add a caveat to his profile that explains his age comes out to 42 in dog years since he’s lyin’ hound.

No matter where people are in their lifecycle, they long to be on the other end of the spectrum. Teenagers dress themselves up and posture like adults. Poor Ponce de Leon trapsed through the Everglades hoping to find that damned miracle fountain. Countless resources (natural, intellectual, financial, you name it) have been used on products and treatments to help the wrestle the hands of the clock backwards. Sunscreen? Working out? Why spend all that time and money in pursuit of youth when it’s only a few clicks of a mouse, strategic keystrokes and a Match.com membership away? 

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