Love & The Goddess by Mary Elizabeth Coen Read Free Book Online Page B

trawled through countless profiles in the age group forty-five to fifty. I was the new kid on the block and the site highlighted new users.
Some contacts, noticing that I’d checked their profile, messaged back, “Thanks for checking me out. I hope you like what you saw lol.” (What on earth did ‘lol’ mean?)
Some didn’t seem to bother reading about me while others read my profile too literally, failing to see the joke – just as Ella had predicted.
    A message from “ Bobdbuilder ” was similar to several others asking about my Bollywood career:
     
    Inbox:
    From:Bobdbuilder
    Subject: famous
    I was thinking you looked like someone famous. Which Bollywood film were you in?
    Fancy meeting up for a drink?
    Bob
     
    Reply:
    From: Persephone
    Subject: It’s a joke
    Sorry to confuse you, but if you read my profile carefully you’ll see it’s a joke. I am a teacher.
    Kate
     
    The next one made me laugh so I answered it:
     
    Inbox:
    From: iwanttofly
    Subject: pretty
    Hi sweetie. Youre lookin so pretty in your dress. Youre lookin jus like a butterfly comin out a flower.
     
    Reply: From: Persephone
    Subject: re. pretty
    Thanks for your compliment. I wouldn’t mind having a pair of wings.
    Kate
     
    This was absurd. I hadn’t spoken to anyone in such a babyish manner since Julie was six years old. Iwanttofly sent me three more emails about me looking like a
butterfly, possibly on account of my picture showing me wearing a silver and pink lace dress, which I’d worn as a guest at a wedding. I saw he was Greek, so that explained his poor spelling.
Others had no such excuse. As I scanned through my mail, my inner teacher kicked in, spotting bad grammar and spelling along with a general level of immaturity usually associated with
pre-adolescents. The usernames were by and large uninspired and some of them were an absolute turn-off. Take “ spudsgalore” . I wondered if he grew potatoes or gave a bag of spuds
to the love of his life rather than a bouquet of flowers? Hmm – maybe that was romantic if it was given with love?
    Someone with no picture mistook “adventurous” for a willingness to be “up for it sexually” and asked me was I interested in a threesome. As I blocked him, I wondered what
on earth I was exposing myself to.
    Yesterday I’d bought a cheap pay-as-you-go phone registered under a fake name and address. I’d also set up a separate email for the dating business. I really was beginning to feel
like a Russian spy. And I had a strange feeling of guilt – given that I was a mother, this did not seem quite proper. Also, I was a teacher responsible for sending students out into the world
and this dating business felt juvenile. But perhaps it was my time to be silly and throw a certain amount of caution to the wind. I’d always followed the rules and been a sensible girl and
look where that had got me.
    One of the few men to understand my profile without my having to send several explanatory emails was a man called “ Wordsmith”, aka Alan . After exchanging a few friendly
emails, I agreed to speak with him on the phone. And since we chatted like old friends, I agreed to meet him when his work brought him to Galway later that week. He told me he was an agricultural
consultant with a passion for writing, and seemed well grounded with a good sense of humour. Also, he was very sympathetic about my break-up and offered me advice about how best to handle my
divorce. The only problem was that afterwards I felt that I had shared too many personal details, despite Ella’s repeated warnings whenever she rang to find out how I was getting on with the
site. Quite simply, he had the kind of manner and voice that seemed to inspire the sharing of confidences – rather like a priest in a confessional.
    A few days later, as I scanned through my mail on the site, a new message came in from “Wordsmith” asking me would this evening suit to meet up, and if so where?
    I messaged him back, suggesting