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After a wonderful dinner and plenty of wine, I start bemoaning the fact that I have been single for nearly four years, and don’t seem to be able to meet the right guy. At the age of 25 I met and fell in love with a man I truly thought was The One.
Life, sadly, had different plans for us, and after nine years of ups and downs we separated and I found myself newly single at the age of 34.
To get started, I posted an ad on an online dating site.
It is at this point that we return to the wine-loosened conversation with my father.
I'd learned that letting myself kiss the wrong guy set in motion a sort of unwitting hormonal bonding stronger than rational thinking.
If I was going to meet the right man, I decided, I needed to remain chemical-free, to think clearly, to get to know him first. Back then, I'd followed the Hollywood movie model wherein men and women tend to tumble into bed, then into love, and finally into marriage.
By now, all my female friends were married and starting to have children.
Things had moved on from when I was in my 20s, when all you had to do was go to a bar or club, have a few drinks, snog a random guy and hope that your booze goggles hadn’t steered you too far off course.
One of my earliest electronic dates taught me about honesty. A handsome telecommunications executive I met over a drink at a restaurant one evening looked and sounded far less alluring to me a few days later in the sober light of day.