Death of the blind date?

I recently received an email from RTE asking if I would be interested in appearing on a dating show. I haven't a notion how they got my contact details, which leads me to believe my Nan wrote a heartfelt letter to Marty Whelan in an act of sheer desperation to have me married off before she shuffles off this mortal coil. Or at least, to settle her worries that the reason I'm not in a serious relationship, considering marriage and stretchmarks, is that I am infact, a closet lesbian. Or worse still, a vegetarian closet lesbian. Imagine the whispers at mass…”Yes that’s her there…her granddaughter…one of those vegetarians..” Oh the horror.

On the topic of dating, a friend of mine also recently tried to set me up on a blind date with a good male friend of hers. As this was in the height of my dry spell, (I’ll add it has yet to rain) I said, fuck it, why not? Now I’ve never personally been on a blind date before, but I always thought both parties were given a time and place, Bob would wear a red flower in his lapel and Mary would be in a blue dress etc etc etc. Apparently I’m living in the past. Now you have to add each other on Facebook, little photo stalking, little IM-ing, little flirting….THEN comes the date. Therein lay the problem for me. Firstly, I was mortified adding this guy I had never met purely on the premise that we were being set up. So naturally, some reconnaissance work had to be done first…..pre-adding-as-friend photo stalking. This, I’m not proud to say, is where problem number two arose. Bob had been described to Mary as good looking, gorgeous eyes, slightly receding but with a shaven head to hide it. Bob did indeed have all these features and more. It was the more that bothered me. Bob was bald. I had never considered myself to be a hair-racist until now. That may be however because this was my first potential bald date. I was like Natalie Umbruglia, torn. Bald or not the facts still remained:

I was going through a major dry spell
I had agreed to the blind date
He was apparently hilarious, and lovely but not too lovely in a “sweetheart here’s my testicles in a jar, I thought you might like to keep them as a token of my love” sort of way.
My Nan could finally come off the Valium knowing that I went on a date with a real-life man.

All good reasons to give it a go.

HOWEVER

I’m only 23. Which I feel is a bit young yet to be consoling yourself that your days of dating men with full flowing fetlocks are over.
If I went ahead and added him as a friend and found more damning photos, it would be too late, the connection had been made, and the date couldn’t be avoided without some seriously awkward diarrhoea related excuses. And nobody wants that.
I could fall madly in love with him and one day have his babies. Thin hair also runs in my family. Too risky.

So rather ashamedly I have to admit, I never added him. And when asked by my friend why I hadn’t, I would put in an Oscar worthy performance of getting a phone call, or being attacked by an invisible bee. She eventually stopped asking, probably more concerned with the fact that no-one else ever saw the infamous bee, and that I was most likely, having an episode of some sort. No doubt brought on by the drought. Which I’m sure now will only get worse because of my hair-racist karma.

I often wonder, if I hadn’t seen any photos and just gone ahead and met him what would have happened? Would my hair-racism have reared up just the same? Resulting in a “What??? You were in an accident? I’ll be right there!!” call followed by a swift exit stage left? Or would I have been so dazzled by his charm and loveliness that he could have been wearing a short sleeved cheque shirt and proper running-runners and it wouldn’t have bothered me?

Its official: Facebook has murdered the blind date as we know it. Now you can practically find out a mans inner leg measurements before you’ve even met. (Interpret that as you will!!) A bad profile photo can potentially destroy a relationship before it’s even begun. And profiles with no photo? Even worse. Axe Murderer. Guaranteed. Guys with no profile whatsoever? Amish sociopath.

So with Cilla Black off the air, and Facebook wielding its thwarty axe, what is to become of blind dating for the 21st century? Does Facebook almost destroy the chance of falling for someone’s great personality anymore? Or is it actually a blessing? Is it infact saving us from looking for Bob’s red rose in a crowded room, from Amish sociopaths, from short sleeve cheque shirts?

Or the most important question of all; Did Facebook murder my shot at love (or a summer romance at least)?? Wait a minute, it works both ways, he never added me either. And I think I look quite fetching in my profile picture.

The Bastard.