it up, flipped it around, and snapped a picture of him before he could protest. He made a strange screeching noise and dove under his desk. I looked at my phone. Man! He was fast for an old guy. Nothing but cape!
“Ms. Hudson!” he said sternly from under the desk. “One more stunt like that and you are fired! Put the camera away!”
Feeling a little foolish, I dropped my phone back into my purse. “Sorry Mr. Pyres,” I said. “I just thought you were being shy about having your picture taken. I thought if you saw yourself in a photo, then you would get over the whole photo phobia thing.”
He rose from under the desk and flipped out his cape. He pointed his finger with its strange, pointy fingernail at me. “No pictures!”
“Okay,” I said meekly. Disproving his delusion that he was a vampire was not worth losing this great paying job. “Let’s just start with completing the profile on the first site.”
He nodded. I filled out all the basic info, stopping to find out his age, 59, and his height and weight, 5’ 10”, 175 pounds. I determined he was interested in dating women 35-60 in the Annapolis/D.C./Baltimore area. He had no preferences as far as physical characteristics. So far so good.
“Okay, now we need to tell your potential matches about your hobbies, favorite things to do, etc.” I said. “Specific is better. Give examples. So what’s your favorite book?” I asked
“The History of Medieval Crockery, Cooking, and Husbandry,” he replied.
My fingers paused over the keyboard. I typed I enjoy experiencing authentic international cuisine. “How about pets?” I asked hopefully.
“I raise silk worms in Yugoslavia,” he replied. “But I don’t suppose they count as pets.”
I stared at the screen. Close enough, I said to myself, and checked off animal lover. “Any special talents?” I asked.
His brow furrowed in thought. Finally, he snapped his fingers. “I play the hurdy gurdy quite well.”
I shook my head. “The what?”
“A hurdy gurdy. You know it was used extensively in medieval times and is still popular today. It’s a bowed string instrument. It looks like a violin, but sounds something like a bagpipe.” He seemed surprised that I had never heard of it.
Actually, I think I had heard the name before, but had no idea what the instrument looked or sounded like. I quickly Googled hurdy gurdy and pulled up a picture. “That?” I asked, pointing to the screen.
He nodded. “I should have my housekeeper ship it to me. Good call, Diana,” he said enthusiastically. “Women are always interested in musicians. You play the guitar, right? Maybe I could sit in on your next gig.” He chortled over his use of the musician’s vernacular.
I wanted to bang my head on the keyboard. “Next,” I said, clicking on the What I Do section. The next thirty minutes went smoothly. He had a strange and interesting resume, but it was perfectly respectable and probably his best selling point.
“Now we need to come up with a paragraph to introduce you. This is important because we aren’t using your picture. Women are going to have to like what they read or they will never contact you.”
He walked over to me and handed me a quill and ink written paragraph. “I think that should do it,” he said self-assuredly.
I looked at the paper. Incredible. I think he was actually going to get some responses with this. “You’re rich?” I asked looking up from the paper.
“Filthy,” he replied tapping his fingers on the desktop.
“You know,” I cautioned, “you are going to get a bunch of gold-digging wackos by saying you’re rich and looking for a soul mate.”
“That’s where you come in, Diana,” he said. “To separate the wheat from the chaff.” Wonderful, now I was his wingman. This is not going to be pretty, I thought grimly.
We finished up with the profiles around one-thirty. I begged off another vegan lunch by saying I had errands to run. He was eager to see
“Ms. Hudson!” he said sternly from under the desk. “One more stunt like that and you are fired! Put the camera away!”
Feeling a little foolish, I dropped my phone back into my purse. “Sorry Mr. Pyres,” I said. “I just thought you were being shy about having your picture taken. I thought if you saw yourself in a photo, then you would get over the whole photo phobia thing.”
He rose from under the desk and flipped out his cape. He pointed his finger with its strange, pointy fingernail at me. “No pictures!”
“Okay,” I said meekly. Disproving his delusion that he was a vampire was not worth losing this great paying job. “Let’s just start with completing the profile on the first site.”
He nodded. I filled out all the basic info, stopping to find out his age, 59, and his height and weight, 5’ 10”, 175 pounds. I determined he was interested in dating women 35-60 in the Annapolis/D.C./Baltimore area. He had no preferences as far as physical characteristics. So far so good.
“Okay, now we need to tell your potential matches about your hobbies, favorite things to do, etc.” I said. “Specific is better. Give examples. So what’s your favorite book?” I asked
“The History of Medieval Crockery, Cooking, and Husbandry,” he replied.
My fingers paused over the keyboard. I typed I enjoy experiencing authentic international cuisine. “How about pets?” I asked hopefully.
“I raise silk worms in Yugoslavia,” he replied. “But I don’t suppose they count as pets.”
I stared at the screen. Close enough, I said to myself, and checked off animal lover. “Any special talents?” I asked.
His brow furrowed in thought. Finally, he snapped his fingers. “I play the hurdy gurdy quite well.”
I shook my head. “The what?”
“A hurdy gurdy. You know it was used extensively in medieval times and is still popular today. It’s a bowed string instrument. It looks like a violin, but sounds something like a bagpipe.” He seemed surprised that I had never heard of it.
Actually, I think I had heard the name before, but had no idea what the instrument looked or sounded like. I quickly Googled hurdy gurdy and pulled up a picture. “That?” I asked, pointing to the screen.
He nodded. “I should have my housekeeper ship it to me. Good call, Diana,” he said enthusiastically. “Women are always interested in musicians. You play the guitar, right? Maybe I could sit in on your next gig.” He chortled over his use of the musician’s vernacular.
I wanted to bang my head on the keyboard. “Next,” I said, clicking on the What I Do section. The next thirty minutes went smoothly. He had a strange and interesting resume, but it was perfectly respectable and probably his best selling point.
“Now we need to come up with a paragraph to introduce you. This is important because we aren’t using your picture. Women are going to have to like what they read or they will never contact you.”
He walked over to me and handed me a quill and ink written paragraph. “I think that should do it,” he said self-assuredly.
I looked at the paper. Incredible. I think he was actually going to get some responses with this. “You’re rich?” I asked looking up from the paper.
“Filthy,” he replied tapping his fingers on the desktop.
“You know,” I cautioned, “you are going to get a bunch of gold-digging wackos by saying you’re rich and looking for a soul mate.”
“That’s where you come in, Diana,” he said. “To separate the wheat from the chaff.” Wonderful, now I was his wingman. This is not going to be pretty, I thought grimly.
We finished up with the profiles around one-thirty. I begged off another vegan lunch by saying I had errands to run. He was eager to see
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