The second time Andy popped the question was a double-barrel effort. We were in a private chat room, and Andy was pretending that he was my soul mate and that he could ‘sense’ me across the oceans.
“You’re drinking red wine,” he typed.
I was. “So? You know I always drink red wine on a Friday night.”
“And you’re wearing something black.”
“Andy, come on. Most of the lingerie I own is black. Except that little red number, remember?”
“I remember.... Stop distracting me, though. I can so sense you across the miles.... You are rolling your eyes now, aren’t you? And before you can roll them some more, answer that phone of yours. It’s ringing.”
Now that was a little spooky. My mobile had just played the first notes of “Moonlight Sonata”. I was so surprised I didn’t check the caller ID.
“Gillian Moore speaking.”
“Will you marry me?” said the voice in my mobile phone, just as the chat room exploded in pixels of fireworks surrounding the typed words “will you marry me”.
That was way romantic. And I couldn’t laugh it off this time.
I had to say no.
Andy was perfect. But then many guys seem perfect online. It’s easy to dazzle a girl in cyberspace. You have all the time in the world to think up the best lines and you don’t have to worry whether your breath smells of garlic as you deliver them.
I know those online lovers. I looked up all their smiles and winking semi-colons and dirty thoughts in the online dictionary, and yes, I got a bit tipsy on all the possibilities of dirty sex. And yes, I was duped by all the clichés the online Mr Wrongs dealt me: they were knights in shining armours whose wives didn’t understand them, they drove white BMWs ready to sweep me off my feet, they were all into sunset kisses and cuddling. You name it, I fell for it. Dumb, huh?