Keep on ridin'

Habits, hope, and fairytales die hard. I’m back on Hinge. Last trip to NYC I couldn’t help myself.

And in just a few short months in the online dating world I noticed a new trend among men my age.

Old men on bicycles are the new shirtless old men holding fish on a boat on Hinge.

On my side, I’ve relaxed a little, and may I say, I’ve become more daring. I’ll give an interested man I’ve matched up with my phone number and allow a facetime chat before meeting in person. This does make sense after all since I’m in back in Nashville and they are in NYC. I used to just wait until I returned to the city to meet for coffee first before giving out my phone number.

I find myself now asking the men I meet if they see a therapist.

I’ve come to discover in most cases, when men are in therapy, the therapist unknowingly becomes my back up. More times than not, I’ve had men say to me after I offered my insight into their ridiculous behavior, that their therapist said the same thing as me.

And that’s why I ask men if they have a therapist. I need backup on the front end.

The most recent fella I asked this to said he did not have a therapist but that his son thought he needed one. He then immediately asked me if I would consider dating someone who did not see a therapist. After a few minutes of conversation, I began to wonder if perhaps his son was onto something.

His question did stop me though. And so, I have found myself contemplating if I would date someone who was not seeing a therapist.

What I’ve come to realize though is that maybe more important than knowing someone is in therapy, what I really need from them is to see their x-rays. Yes, actual x-rays. I know they have them. What man around my age is not going to a medical doctor every minute or so for something or other? I need to see what messed upness I’m dealing with here. 

The next time one of them dare ask me to send them nude pics, I know what I’m going to ask them to send me. X-rays. Believe me, at this age, no one wants to see a nude pic. At this point, I’d much prefer a future partner send me his x-rays. At least if I see the x-rays, then I know what I’m really in for. Show me yours and I’ll show you mine.

And that’s okay if you don’t want to Mister. Just keep riding that bike. I’m sure you will have some new x-rays to show me soon enough.