Down the Rabbit Hole

Dear GnatMan: Are you kidding with this profile? Do you actually think someone’s going to think it’s cute? Why don’t you write something serious? Share something of yourself. We don’t bite, you know. You’re a good-looking guy, if that’s really your picture. But if you’re actually the jerk portrayed in the essay, forget it. Telling people you’re an asshole up front still doesn’t make it okay to be an asshole.

Let me know. I’m serious.

And I’m fun. :-) Gina

Jeremy stared at the words. “I’m portrayed as an asshole?”

“Probably.” Kyle moved the mouse over to the profile and clicked. “That’s what they do, list all your worst qualities. And don’t even think about changing it, it doesn’t work. It just adds more bad stuff.”

The first problem was the picture. It was him, all right, and not a bad shot, but it had been a photo of him and Macy at a restaurant last summer, out of which she had been rather obviously and ungracefully cropped.

Then, to cap it off were the words:

I’m fresh out of a relationship and in desperate need of a new one. I always have to be with someone—even if it’s just for arm candy. Though I would love to fall head over heels for someone, for most of my life I believed love was impossible, if not simply a delusional dream of the desperate. Well, count me in now!

I’m self-centered and self-gratifying. I pay minimal attention to my dates unless they’re wearing something hot and we’re about to have sex. Sometimes superficial and regularly overconfident, I can be an insensitive bastard to those who can do nothing for me.

The thing went on in the same vein, ringing just enough bells of veracity to sink Jeremy’s spirits. Was that really who he was? He certainly recognized some of the base impulses, but he hadn’t acted on them, had he? He tried his best to be a decent guy. No, he was a decent guy.

Wasn’t he?

Jesus, if Macy saw that . . . how could he write to her now? Even if he could find her?

“So if everybody on here has a crappy profile, why would anyone not in this crazy place use the app?” Jeremy asked, scrolling through the litany of horrors that was his dating profile. “Who wants to pick out a jerk to date?”

“Oh the site’s open to everybody. We’re a really small percentage overall. You can look around and see. Most people are normal.”

Which would make it even harder to attract someone—and even easier for Macy to find someone better than him. Losing hope rapidly, he looked up at his own handle.

“Why am I called ‘GnatMan’?” he asked, hoping it showed a kind of appealing self-deprecation, some awareness of his place in the universe, or maybe some clue that the profile was a big joke.

But, like the grim reaper, Kyle reached out one long finger and pointed at a line in the essay: I have the attention span of a gnat.

*   *   *

Macy could hardly believe her eyes. Two weeks after breaking up with Jeremy and then hearing absolutely nothing from him, she was sitting in her office after hours looking at his grinning face on an iLove dating profile. He’d actually come up in her Guys You Should Look At section!

Her entire body flushed with mortification. He’d certainly gotten over her in a hurry.

She leaned close. She had taken that photo! They’d been waiting for a table at Captain Newick’s and he’d been smiling so big—he had a killer smile—that she told him he looked like the picture of the cartoon captain on the wall behind him. He’d gathered her in close and they took a selfie with the sign. But only she knew it was behind him now, as it—along with herself—had been unceremoniously cropped out of the picture.

Memories of that day, when they’d driven out to the bay in search of bushels of crabs and cold beers, the sun hot on their heads in Jeremy’s convertible, enveloped her like mid-August humidity. She too had worn a grin that threatened to crack her face wide open, and she hadn’t even cared that her hair was blowing like a willow in a tornado and was likely to look like a tumbleweed before it was all over. Jeremy was laughing and glancing at her so often it was as if he couldn’t believe his luck, and they were singing together to the music, unself-conscious and electric. Neither one of them had had a care in the world beyond finding the elusive Captain Newick’s, which instead of being on the bay was on a back road by a river that fed into it, and boasted the best steamed blue crabs within reach of the city.

He hadn’t been on his phone at all that day. In fact she hadn’t even been aware of the problem yet. She’d still had the wild intoxicating idea that there weren’t any problems between them.

Every woman on here would want that guy, she knew. The one who was totally there, undistracted, happy, in tune. The guy who seemed like he’d be there forever, making up for everything you’d ever lost in your life.

Until he disappeared and you became the superfluous doll across the table from the guy making love to his cell phone.