"Amy and Luke, sittin' in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g. First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes a baby in a baby carriage. One! Two! Three! Four! Five...."
My perfectly permed third grade bob blew in the breeze. As my feet rose and fell, so did my uniform jumper. My legs, clad in green skin tight leggings worked to the hardest of their ability to accrue the highest number of jumps possible. For that would be the amount of kisses my husband in jump rope heaven would give me.
Either that, or it was the amount of babies we were supposed to have. I can't remember. I wouldn't be surprised if it was babies. That was likely at the point in my life where building my own Von Trapp Family Singers was still appealing. I have a new stalker. A stalker which promises me babies. A stalker which promises me my own baseball team of children should I so choose to follow my third grade dreams of having 9 children (although they won't be grade school dreamboat Luke's babies). Nevertheless, they won't be just any babies.
They'll be eHarmony babies.
I am quickly beginning to regret being associated with the same service that has more obnoxious commercials on primetime television every night than Marquette does Jesuits. In the past three days alone, I have received 23 emails from eHarmony. Which means that that's 23 times I get excited because Seth may have emailed me and no. Not so much. Just some other crazy man some computer system has decided I'd be a good match for.
The last time I checked, if I plan on busting out a little, "Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match!" I'll be singing to a living, breathing, bleeding matchmaker. Not some computer whose delete key I could easily rip off (for the record, not the reason my laptop is missing a delete key). They don't offer a picture to these supposedly dreamy matches. Just a name. Because we all know, love at first name happens all the time. No age. Just a location. And a name.
As if I'm actually supposed to take their word for it that this guy could be The One.
Click on his profile and you can put a face to the name. Find out what he's passionate about. What he's thankful for. What his best life skills are. The things he can't live without.
Random questions that would likely never come up within the first 30 minutes of meeting someone.
The last time I checked, for guys in my age demographic the answers to those questions were rather simple: beer, Brett Favre, beer, the Packers, working out to work off the beer, hitting on women, and finally, beer.
They may try and play Casanova and mention their mom and their romantic streak, but let's be honest. The truth will come out eventually. And it's not necessarily the best window into their personality. Maybe a peephole. But that's about it.
And I need more than a peephole to start thinking about eHarmony babies.
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