Karen, Meet Phukhed

*Disclaimer: This post is personal. And it includes the PH word.

Post-single moms are always asked about their dating lives, as if the prize at the end of the game is a man. I think y'all know how I feel about that, but if not, let me just say that I, for one, do not think men are prizes. One too many stories from married and dating friends, I guess. I think they can occasionally be nice and all, but not prizes.

Anyway, for research purposes only (and to see what all the fuss was about), I signed up at Zoosk and Plenty of Fish. The next morning I had an email from Zoosk's expert matchmaking service introducing me to the man they had scientifically deemed to be my perfect match. The inside subject line: Karen, Meet Phukhed.

Now, I don't know if his name is pronounced Fucked or Fuckhead, but there's really no way to spin either one positive. I mean, I'm not crazy about signing up for Fucked. And if he's a Fuckhead, well thanks and all, but I can beat myself up just fine.

You may find this hard to believe (like I could make this stuff up), so I have included this little picture to the left as evidence. You can click to enlarge, if you're still a non-believer.

At least Phukhed was somewhat normal looking. The men at Plenty of Fish? Not so much. I think they're signing up from jail or maybe from a halfway house working on societal re-entry. And it's the strangest thing. They say they want to meet you, in some sort of mysterious survey that includes your profile, but they don't say anything else. Unless it's after midnight. Then, the messages pour in asking you to text or Yahoo chat. I'm not proud of this and will only admit it to you PSMers, but I did message one back the following morning and gave him my email address (not my usual one). I never heard from him again. Like I said, it's the darndest thing.

No wonder there are more and more very kewl, very happy, very active older single females out there every day. Prizes? Door # No Thank You, Bob.