Chris

Christopher

I am adventuresome and I love travelling and have lived and worked abroad. I love technology and if we connect, you’ll never again have to worry about your computer (or connectivity! Ha ha) problems again.

  

Sold!  These have to be the MOST WELCOME words I've ever read on this site!

His interests are not as varied as one might wish.  Technology, Science Fiction, road trips, trading, Stimulation games.  Stimulation?  Now that sounds lively and intriguing. I will have to tickle an explanation out of him on that one.  The final two listed- oh joy- are travel and dining out. It goes without saying I adore travel, and dining, whether in or out, is an activity I approach with some degree of passion. 

He then describes what holds appeal for him.  The woman I am looking for is tall, amusing, clever and confident.   I like women who take care of themselves and are active and athletic.  

Done, done, passably done, done…. but Athletic?  Too many of them tend to bang on about athletic, don’t they? I still have mortifying recollections of swimming in a relay at our high school gala.  Our team was so far behind that, as the winner was touching the edge of the pool in victory, I, the final swimmer representing our team, was just entering the water.  As specified, I was obliged to do two lengths of butterfly as the entire school watched. Possibly some WGHS readers of this blog remember my heroic achievement? Despite resounding cheers upon my completion of the final length, I resolved at that young age, that Athleticism and Sport were two words that need not enter my vocabulary of experience.  Ever again. 

Still, there was that enticing lure re the computer tech support services.  My own private on-demand IT department holds great appeal, given that my archaic (Y2K approved!) computer has taken to freezing unpredictably, or going pale and hazy, with that infuriating blue circle spiralling hypnotically for minutes at a stretch. (Windows is Not Responding)  Other times it feels the need to shut down at random, or annoyingly configure its updates.  Yes, if it works out with Chris, I could have a functionally new desktop within weeks!

Chris' photo reminds me a bit of my David.  He stands on Capilano suspension bridge, legs apart, bracing against the sway of it, and not holding the side ropes, like I would have done.  I suppose this was selected to demonstrate brazen courage, to counterbalance the nerdy stereotype.  He’s got squareish metal framed glasses, (not dark frames, but it will do) large brown eyes, and light brown hair and beard.  Actually, on inspection, he’s quite a bit like my Ron, who also had a penchant for gadgetry.  Of course I want to meet him. 

Hi Chris - your words are irresistible to me, and I am not referring to the ‘Adventuresome and loves travelling bit’, though that can’t go amiss.  No, it’s your tech support declarations that already have me in a swoon.  We girls love that type of talk.

I feel I showed remarkable restraint to speak in such general terms about his allure, not mentioning my Dowager Dell at that critical juncture.

Happily, we agree to meet at a pub, my side of Victoria.  I make sure I have my gadgetry on hand to impress: my red cell phone that’s a lot smarter than myself, my ipod, replete with BBC podcasts, and my little tablet, favourite of my three techie youngsters.  Chris’s going to like me.  I’m very 2013. 

 

He stands to greet me and I feel like I’m next to one of my boys, who tower in rarefied air at 6’5”.  For someone who has a yen for athletic women, he sports a bit of a naughty tummy, but he’s got twinkly eyes, a tidily manicured beard and though the hair is receding a bit, it’s thick and full.  I’m quite chuffed that he’s agreed to meet. I’m going to enjoy this.

As he had been pecking away on a tablet computer identical to my own when I walked in, I pull mine out with glee and declare that we can congratulate ourselves on wisely not chipping up for the Apple, which runs twice the price.  Without delay, I avail myself of his computerish wisdom and get him to install a fantastic predictive text app on my device.  Happily this legacy will cheer me for days to come.  For this alone, (and the cider) the drive was worthwhile. 

I am never sure of the etiquette around payment during these meet and greet dates.  In no way do I want to feel obligated to any of the men, so it is with hesitation that allow Chris to buy me a cider. 

It’s tall and cold and fizzing, and I take a refreshing sip. My spirits are equally effervescent.   Yes!  I am going to enjoy this.

But then his cell chirps with a text message.  He lifts it from the table, reads it, smiles, and spends a few minutes texting back and forth, all the while, the smile playing on his lips. My eyes drift around the room but I find little of interest to occupy me, besides the cider.  Finally his frenetic thumb activity winds down and he places his phone on the table, saying, “Sorry about that.” 

I am not enjoying this.  It reminds me of a story about my son David.  Some years ago, he took a girl out for supper, a first date.  She was articulate, beautiful and lofty as the Eiffel Tower itself, so he approached the evening with optimism.  She too, had a cell phone-texting dependency, and after three electronic interruptions during the block of time between the initial sit down at the table until the food arrived, Dave had had enough.  When she finished texting and put the phone down on the table with its eager bright screen alert for incoming messages, Dave reached over, picked it up, turned it off, and put it in his top pocket.  “I’ll give this back to you when we have finished our meal,” he told her. “I am unwilling to compete with technology.” Needless to say, their relationship didn’t exit the starting gate. Though initially it had been Dave’s intention to pay, they went Dutch on the meal. 

Presuming this story would be of interest to Christopher, I entertain him with David’s encounter.  At the conclusion of the tale, he looks a little riled, and says, “She can’t have been too happy with him taking her phone like that.”  Oops! 

I fortify myself with some mouthfuls of Friendly Cider.  I consider bolting, but there is no way that cider was going to waste.

Chris is not overly forthcoming with sparkling conversation, so I change tack.  “I see you also enjoy Sudoku and Mensa puzzles?  I love stuff like that.  Particularly cryptic crosswords,” I tell him. “And I do the Mensas in my bath at night.”  All this was pretty tongue-in cheek-provocative on my part.  I had a very strong suspicion his Stimulation Games are not intellectual, but would involve equipment like feathers, clothes pegs and hardware of the fifty-shadeish variety. 

I lean forward in eager anticipation of his reaction.  I am curious to know more about this stuff. These are uncharted waters for me.

He looks perplexed.

“Stimulation games.” I prompt him, “You said in your profile you enjoy them.”

He still looks confused, then comprehension dawns. “Not stimulation, simulation.  They are computer games in virtual worlds.” He elaborates in tedious detail, quickly losing me.   

It is all more complicated than the plot of the Matrix.  Though my feigned interest is Oscar-worthy, I burn with hot coals of mortification.  My eyes had slid over his written profile in so cursory a manner that I misread this critical word.  Of course it wasn’t titillating Stimulation Games!  Of course Chris’ stimulation was computer-generated!

As we are in a pub, there are billboard-sized TV sets jauntily flickering all around us.  A hockey game is playing, and he starts blatantly watching, not attempting to engage me.  I feel I am an annoyance to him, tearing him away from what he’d rather be doing. 

I am really not enjoying this.

I battle on gamely trying to hold more appeal than Hockey, which, in Canada, would be verging on miraculous.  It is obvious where his loyalties lie.   When my last ambrosial mouthful of cider is swallowed, I am delighted to hear his cell phone ringing.  He picks it up, and says to me, “Do you mind if I take this?” “Not at all, Chris, I should get moving anyway.”  I answer and, faster than you can say ‘Twitter’, hasten to the nearest exit.