In essence, the dating sites are the human's version of the animal rescue shelter: one place built under one promise that someday we will find our person. A missionary for the neglected, lost, and lacking love. We are all looking for our forever home.
I've been on this roller coaster of online dating on and off for the last eight months and it can be a challenge, especially to a phat girl. You take down your guard and put yourself out there: through words describing "who you are", "what you represent", "describe your personality in one sentence", and other endless, vague questions. You post photos of you, some flattering, some out of your comfort zone (here comes that cleavage shot...kidding, kidding!), and some of you passed out drunk off Wild Irish Rose on a(nother) lonely Saturday night...okay, maybe that picture "ctrl + alt+ dels" from the album and, ultimately, from your computer. Sure, you take the risk of a chubby chaser or some asshole that sends you messages just to refer to you as "Roseanne" (yes, this has happened to me rather recently...sadly, the douchebag that called me that looked like a fucked up version of Ralphie from A Christmas Story. I wonder if he liked it when I told him to go shoot his eye out....lol), but you have to try, right?
This morning as I laid in bed talking to one of the sweetest people in the world, it came to me. I'm looking for that forever home. Like those neglected animals at the rescue shelter, I'm sheltering myself on these dating sites for past neglect, hurt, disappointment, and constant let downs. I've got scars from hurtful words, no calls, and no shows. My past could lead people to believe I'm not willing to love again because I lack trust and compassion. I could be labeled as abused and able to be aggressive, to bite any hand that comes near; not the case at all. Like these animals in the shelter, I am looking, wanting, and needing that second chance. I am dying to be loved despite my own fears. I am looking for my forever person and not my fifteen minute fling.
We all are waiting to be rescued and sometimes we think our time is running out and we are on the doorstep of being euthanized. We suck ourselves into the mindset that our timer is about to go off as every year passes. We fail to keep in mind that we survived some fucked up shit; shit that made us question our worth, our roles in this screenplay called life..shit that made us almost fall off the cliff....almost.
When I get to this point; this point of no return, about to get off and get out, I think about Speedy, the 85 pound basset hound.
Speedy wasn't an AKC champ and he certainly wasn't a good hunting dog. Hell, that dog was the laziest fucking dog I've ever encountered hands down. He was locked up in the humane society for months for being a stray. No one wanted him because he was old and, like me, phat (again, I refuse to use the word FAT). His days were numbered in many foster parents' eyes. He was the reject of the kennel and soon enough he was on the list to be euthanized.
The day before his "dead dog walkin'" day, an amazing man came to the shelter to deliver a sackful of bread like he did every week. He was a man that swore up and down that he would NEVER adopt another pet, being that he had six dogs, a cow, a goat and ten outdoor cats. He was getting old and caring for another animal was just too much at his elder age. He was stern and dead set on not bringing another animal home...until he saw Speedy. It was love at first sight: the old man got down on his tired knees and pet him, praised him, and scratched behind his floppy ears. It was a match made in Heaven. As the old man stood up, trying to pry himself away from this sweet, imperfect creature, he was told by one of the volunteers at the site that Speedy was due to make his maker the next day. It was then that stubborn old man decided one extra dog wouldn't break him.
Speedy, the imperfect basset hound, got his forever home that day with my grandpa, Arthur. He kept my grandpa's feet warm on cold winter days, "laughed" at his jokes, and stayed vigil by grandpa's side the day he left us, a year later. Speedy was there to heal my broken the heart the day of the funeral, sitting by my side with his head in my lap as I cried for the man we both loved and lost. Needless to say, Speedy stayed with his family.
Everyone needs a forever home. Everyone deserves that second chance. Someday, may it be today or a few months from now, it will happen for us still waiting and healing. We just got to keep strong and keep moving. That's all you can do, right?
Forever yours,
Dee Dee
Thickspiration: Speedy Petey Swigart - The 85 pound basset hound that got his happily ever after.
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