"Hello, my name is Regina. You answered my advert in the personal column"
God, how I've come to hate this opening line. What it really means is that I'm about to get entangled in yet another awkward, almost painful, conversation with a woman I have absolutely nothing in common with.
It's been so long since I've had a meaningful relationship that even though Henry is growing up fast I'm still so lonely that, even though he denies it, he can hear me sobbing into my pillow late at night. Being Mayor certainly keeps me busy but at the end of the day, when all the files are put away and after I've kissed my son goodnight, there's just me. On my own with a bottle of wine in a cold and empty house, it's not that I just want someone to share my bed with, but someone to share my heart. Is that really too much to ask in this day and age? Apparently so.
Now I'm on the wrong side of forty and morbidly single I thought it was about time to get back in the saddle before my boobs went the way of the red squirrel. It wasn't until last year when I attended the wedding of Mr Gold and his mail order bride that I realised just how alone I was. It's been nearly twenty years since I came out and am very comfortable with my sexuality, so why was it so damn hard to find someone who was open to sharing my life?
Working in politics I know many frustrated gay women and you would've thought that at least at one of the parties I attended in my official capacity there would've been someone special. Someone who would blind me with the sparks between us but no, all I got were drunken bimbos who seemed to think I was some po-faced killjoy in a finely cut suit.
Was it through desperation that I finally buckled and took out a personal ad on a seemingly harmless dating site? Well yes to be honest, I'm tired of waking up alone, tired of cooking for one and drinking for three and waking up with a hangover where I had gotten carried away with a bottle of merlot and crying over the photo of my ex.
I know there are gay bars all over this state and I have ventured into a few but they always made me feel out of place, seeming a little crass as godawful pop music and blazing strobe lights drowned out any subtle gestures. But when I went to fine restaurants or ballet recitals how can you just walk up to an attractive woman and ask her bluntly about her sexuality without appearing like some needy letch?
When I talked about online dating it brought out every lesbian I know in cautious tales. Citing reasons from their infuriatingly cosy coupledom such as "you'll only find some weirdo who wants you to dress in latex and spank them with a bible". But as I trailed through the website a couple of clicks brought into view thousands of women, surely one of them loved Verdi, equestrian pursuits and films by Kurusawa, who didn't look like an extra from Deliverance and considered monogamy to be desirable rather than a petty annoyance.
I summoned the spirit of the free spirited girl I once was back in middle school and I snapped out what I thought was a pretty interesting profile piece. As soon as I mentioned my annual salary a tsunami of winks, nods and prods came my way, though as soon as I requested that we speak on the phone rather than just on Messenger it elicited many disappearances and unanswered PM's.
Through this flood of messages it seemed there was some kind of amnesia clause as, after a few brief chats, many of them had forgotten to mention that their profile pic had been taken fifteen years before, when their Jenny Craig program was still stuck to, or that they were currently still living with someone.
It's amazing how quickly profiles change stretching the truth to unfathomable degrees, especially when it came to occupations. When I found one woman who claimed to be a talent relations manager who seemed genuine enough. You can imagine my disappointment when it turned out 'talent relations manager' meant 'woman who sought out hookers for Charlie Sheen'. A phrase such as 'I have to express my liberty' was nothing more than a polite euphemism for 'I'm currently sleeping with a different girl every night'.
Sure it was nice to be noticed and winked at online but I think sites like this are just here for girls wanting no-strings-attached one night stands, rather than finding a woman who was interested in ultimately buying matching bicycles and finding sperm donors together.
There are just so many commitment-phobes out there, girls with freshly smashed hearts who have ended a relationship on a Friday and are seeking a new one on Monday. The so called 'still being in love with my ex' syndrome seems to cling to these women like limpets.
This phenomenon can lead to minefields of exes with profiles on the same site. 'She loved her stupid Siamese more than me and had two affairs' hissed one woman with menace. I had reason to be thankful for this little nugget of information when a particularly witty correspondent sent me a photo of her relaxing on a sofa with a pair of Siamese cats.
I spoke to a total of eleven women and after a few weeks of online banter suggested that we might have a chance of compatibility, despite them having to travel all the way to my town as Henry will always come first so I can't just abandon him for my sake. But if there's one thing I've learnt in life is that I always set myself up for a fall, seemingly underlined by the fashionista who sent through a curt 'no thanks' after I sent her a picture of myself which prompted some serious wardrobe anxiety and a trip to the hairdressers.
Another cut short our call because I sounded way too stuck up. Me of all people? The apparent bubbly girl with a fine line in delicious irony turned out to be a lonely agoraphobic who asked me to meet her in her home. Things didn't improve with the two women still living with their exes.
Not to mention the one woman who described herself as an 'amateur photographer' which translated as 'girl who takes photos of her boobs with her phone and sends them to me when she's drunk at two a.m.'. Charming.
Undaunted I placed a personal ad in a serious East Coast newspaper; foolishly I thought I'd been pretty specific- 'professional gay female of smart appearance who is passionate about arts and cooking, has one child, seeking woman who shares the same interests for lasting relationship'.
Respondent number one, Helen, left a charming message in elegantly husky tones but my bubble of optimism burst when she revealed herself yet to have male-to-female surgery, not to mention her minor drug problem.
The promising sounding second caller was a stunning professional woman of above average intelligence and appearance, so I decided to up the ante and have dinner where she announced she had only just unearthed her latent lesbianism after a long unhappy marriage. And that her children mustn't ever find out about this side of herself.
I don't know how she envisioned this relationship progressing, but as she admitted she had never slept with a woman before I could feel another bottle of wine calling my name. As her hand stroked my thigh with an increasing urgency I decided to make it two bottles.
Still it wasn't as bad as fifty two year old Monica who swigged two glasses of Merlot in ten minutes before offering to pay her half of the bill with Canadian dollars.
And then there was the die-hard vegan who refused to even take the bus as it damaged Mother Earth so much. Something which somehow never came up during our conversation, so when we met for a late breakfast and I ordered bacon and eggs I could feel the disgust radiating from beneath her tie dye t-shirt and sandals made of hemp. The bill couldn't have come quick enough for either of us.
I'd rather forget about the eminent scientist who was almost a caricature of herself with her thick glasses and owlish eyes who stared on suspiciously at everyone around her. By now I could only see two ways forward, a rest to blind dating or slitting my wrists.
Three months later I was introduced to a newly spliced lesbian couple at a party up in Boston when I was at a conference. As we sipped overpriced champagne I commented on their matching Tiffany wedding rings which lead, of course, to them asking about my own marital status. Moribund wasn't even the word for it.
I told them I was single and a lively discussion about the perils of blind dating ensued. 'You and our friend Melissa would get on really well, you should meet her' they advised. Their description of her was glowing, an arty, foodie, civil engineer and was bound to be snapped up soon, and she only lived about five miles from Storybrooke.
They gave me her number and the next morning I dialled Melissa expectantly. Five minutes later I was feeling slightly thrown. This so called arty woman had never been to an exhibition, and the last film she'd seen was Jurassic Park. By her own admission her culinary prowess didn't stretch much beyond a microwave meal for one. Perhaps she'd burst into life if I turned the subject around to her career.
"So you're a civil engineer?", I ventured.
"No, I do work on the roads though"
"Doing what?"
"I dig holes in them"
Is the old adage really true? Have all the good one really been taken? Has the dating scene really become so jaded and bogged down with lies that any hope of finding a genuine woman out there is nearly zero?
We all know what suits us and what compromises can be made but at this point in my life am I really willing to sacrifice so much just I won't be alone anymore? But I haven't given up hope just yet as you never know what you'll miss by giving up.
So as I scroll through the site once more I feel a sigh escape my lips as I receive a new message. It's only a brief intro but thankfully it didn't contain text speak so that was a bonus. I clicked on her profile and waited for yet another setback from a curious timewaster.
I scrolled through her witty blurb and was left wondering why she chose the user name 'UglyDuckling'. As I clicked on her thumbnail I gasped as her profile photo came up, could it really be true? Could she of all people really be into me?
As my fingers tapped away at the keyboard I felt a rush along my skin for if I played this right then she would no longer be an 'UglyDuckling'…..she would be my beautiful Swann.
The End