There may be a problem with your profile read the ominous caption. Oh no! If memory serves me, I didn't say anything inappropriate, was careful to keep the ugliest truths about myself pretty well buried. Maybe I had been hacked. Only a day earlier I had received an email, supposedly sent by a friend, alerting me to an article about how to eliminate belly fat. Fairly certain he does not have a death wish, I believed him when he said he had not sent it.
Assuming I would once again need to change my email password, I opened the email. Maybe you should change your pictures. Oh dear; the dating site was calling me ugly. Maybe you should complete or edit your responses. Oh dear; not just ugly, but dull. And all this time I had been thinking there was something wrong with the guys!
Well, since I really have no interest in trying to optimize my online dating appeal, I'm back to the drawing board (or should I say keyboard) on search engine optimization for my blog. Earlier this week, a discreet "pussy" in the title and "beef jerky" in the text had nominal effect on my readership statistics, so it's time to explore new strategies.
I pondered this the other day, my fingers dancing idly over the keys -- a writers version of air guitar -- while I half listened to the morning news (and I use the term news very loosely -- it took me a week to learn that Yosemite was burning but I knew Michael Douglas and Catherine Zeta Jones had split within thirty seconds of the door slamming behind her). Anyway, like manna from heaven came the teaser and then the story about the woman who decided to have sex with her husband every day for a year and then write about it. Seriously. For this, she lands on the morning news. I was thinking I could do that, and I bet I could write about it better than she could. Yes, I could have sex every day for a year with her husband, especially since she admitted right there on television that she's cutting him off. Well, so I thought, until an excerpt of the interview with him came on, and he said something so grammatically incorrect any interest I might have had pretty much dried up.
Bad idea anyway. If my kids already find my writing humiliating, I can only imagine how they'd feel if I wrote that I had sex at all much less for three hundred sixty-five straight days and had told them to stay out of the room because we were having a "Santa meeting." Yes, the entire world knows these kids believed that mom and dad were meeting with Santa in their bedroom. Every day for a year, mom came out with her hair looking like it had been in the Cuisinart and dad's fly was always open and the kids think they were meeting with Santa? Forget about the humiliation; how about the years of therapy? Going forward, on December 24th, while all the other kids in the neighborhood are trying to figure out where their parents hid the presents, this mom and dad will be trying to find their kids, who are hiding under beds, trembling, praying that weird Santa dude can't fit down the chimney.
Maybe I should shift my focus back to the dating site. New pictures, new responses, maybe even a link to my blog. It may not optimize any engines, but it could stir up a little activity, let the online dating folks know they don't need to worry about me.
No comments:
Post a Comment