I feel like an accountant in the springtime. No, it’s not that I’m surrounded by men in short-sleeved dress shirts. (A fashion aside: guys, just don’t do it. Sexy=sleeves.) It’s that my busy season just ended. For me of course, speed dating is a lifestyle, but for the rest of the world, it seems to be a mid-February marketing gimmick. A few of the options I came across in the run-up to the April 15 of the dating world:
- Regular old speed dating, but with a special holiday angle. “Nobody wants to be alone on Valentine’s Day,” the invitation began. Cheery, isn’t it?
- Unlike speed dating marketers, ski area PR people know what they’re doing. A reader let me know about one chairlift speed dating event, and then a Google search revealed several more. One resort was promoting that its lift had a history of “proposals for marriage and other perhaps less permanent relationships” (maybe that explains the tree strewn with bras) while another pointed out that anyone who marries a liftie gets a free season pass. I was ready to sign up, until I remembered what I look like when I ski: from far away, glamorous and graceful; up close, bright red and covered in snot.
- I guess some people don’t worry about such superficial things. Or maybe some Kiwis look their best when upside-down and screaming in terror. Yes, on Valentine’s Day, I caught a news clip about people who were speed dating while bungee jumping in New Zealand.
- I don’t think my grandmother would have approved of that kind of dating (nice girls don’t bungee jump!), but this next event might have been the payoff for all the money she invested in my higher education. An email from my grad school invited me to come to a bar on a recent night to buy a doctor. No more cruising medical conferences or golf courses– just plop down your money and take away the medical, dental or veterinary student of your choice.
Sadly, I already had plans for the night, and I couldn’t think of a diplomatic way to cancel on my date. “I’m sorry. I’m not feeling well. I need to buy, I mean see, a doctor?” Oh well, there’s always next year.