I've been on and off dating sites for years and despite a few dates, and making some GREAT friends with the complementary sex, it's been a wasteland of unrewarded breath holding.

So why is it that love escapes many of us? Is it the test of one's faith? Is is character building? Is it punishment for writing on the school desk in 1968? And what about these close calls, when people enter our lives and we're happy to have them, ready to feel this is headed for love, only to have them turn into hyper critics who find restorative glee in expanding on every fault they can find in us? Or they use us? Or they just have no idea what they want? Or we remind them of a poodle that once bit them and they shoo us away.

And what's with AMAZING first dates when you know you connected, you laughed and talked and found acres of things in common, and that first kiss goodbye effortlessly merged into a passionate public lip lock that was better than most of the nookie you've had. Including in the car. And then of course, no second date. Poof. Gone. Not today. "I NEED to see other people." Ah yes, more notches in whatever notches are made in these days. And what about the whole "so near but so far" thing. When you actually meet people face to face as opposed to profile to profile, and you have a huge attraction. But the check list of why-nots appears like a proverbial black cloud.

Dating sites can even add to this craziness. "XYZ wants to meet you." No they don't or they'd write me and say I want to meet you. I've been added as a favourite? A favourite what? We've never danced... I've never cooked for you... I've never pruned your tree or arranged your furniture. Exactly what do I do that places me as one of your favourite anythings?

So what's my point? What's the answer? I have no idea. Welcome to my emotional happy meal. I guess we're asking the question, not giving the answer. I'm not a toad... I can speak... love...laugh, cry, if I had to - make a cake out of a box. I have the drives of passion, presence of mind, elegance of thought, inspiration of dreams, milk in fridge. Why doesn't someone "get me". Why doesn't someone want me? Why am I being denied? Hmmmm. Dunno. I have no idea. It's a bloody romantic mystery. —Me