Bryson (my 9-year-old son who has shown quite and aptitude for looking both ways before crossing, unless he is in a parking lot)came home the other day and handed me this poem, which took be just a bit to read because of his fairly bad penmanship (like father, like son). It went like this:

It always
makes me think
I ought to bloom
myself.

And
that's when
I start to plan
my New Year
Celebration!

I finally choose
a day
that is
exactly
right.

Even the air
has to be
perfect,
and the dirt
has to feel
good and warm
on bare feet.


Me: "Bryson, did you write this?" Him: "Yeah." Me; "Really?" Him: "Yes, I wrote it." Me, thinking the boy is a prodigy, that this is a talent I must cultivate, thinking he might be to literary endeavors what Tiger Woods is to golf, "Wow, this is really really good." Him: "Thanks." Me, nagged by disbelief because it is way too good to be true: "So this is all yours, right? You wrote it." Him: "Yes, I wrote it. I copied it out of a book, but I wrote it."

Ah well, close but no cigar.

Just for kicks I went on E-Harmony and posted my info, and then was told by EHarmony to be patient because this is a very scientific procedure that weeds out all but those who are Truly Destined to Be a Match. And so I may not here from anyone for quite some time, if at all, but when I did be certain that the caring data-gatherers and compassionate numbers-crunchers truly sweated blood, not to mention shed a few tears, in finding the person that was meant to be yours forever. And then within a few hours I was told the person Truly Destined to be my Lifelong Match wanted to initiate sharing of personal information. Knowing this was the person I surely was going to be with the rest of my life, I quickly returned to the site to answer in the affirmative. Yes, dearest, let us exchange personal information. I want to know so much more about you, other than that the three things you most value in a relationship is honesty, trust and intimacy. After all, we both consider ourselves conservatively liberal, and the fact we are both spiritual but not religious certainly seals the deal for me. I want you, Rosie from Mesa, more than I've ever wanted anyone in my life. And that is when I ran into the catch. To get in touch with my new and faceless beloved, the woman chosen for me by a team of relationship experts, I would have to pony up $50, and would that be Visa or Mastercard? Of fickle fate, how can you treat me so cruelly. Though I am willing to spend the rest of my life with you, Rosie of Mesa, I am not willing to shell out $50 to see if you truly are sensitive and caring, or become one of those intimate friends who might one day say about you that you love to laugh, a truly unique and precious quality, one that I treasure. So I am afraid I will never know the bliss of loving a school administrator making $30,000-$44,999 per year. And what I will truly miss most is that we will never share those times you consider most rewarding, from volunteering at a domestic-abuse shelter to sitting in front of a fire with a good book.

But as despair overcame me, not an hour later Marjorie from Avondale came into my life, an angel who, like me, enjoyed a quiet night with friends over meeting new people at a popular nightclub. As I was about to share those insights that make me who I am, such as how I rate as a 7 on a scale of 10 my ability to open up about things troubling me, that horrid fee leaped up and slapped me in the face once again. And so it continued. I am sorry Jo from Tempe, Elizabeth from Gilbert, Veronica from Phoenix. Please, I beg you, forget all about me. Drop me from your People You Have Contacted te Exchange Information list. I am not worthy of your love.