Cereal dating

I’ve been unmarried—though not entirely uncoupled—for more than a decade. Which is almost as long as online dating has existed. JDate and Match opened the floodgates in 1997. Hinge followed in 2013. Tinder in 2014. Bumble, 2016. And those are just the ones I’ve tried. 

Because I still believe in pair bonding and oxytocin is a thing, I’ve gone on many dates. With many men. In many cities. Evidently, my profile resonates. The words are well strung and honest. My pictures are current and show a camper van and a big dog. I look like a girl who has fun.

But because of that, many men also write me off—they swipe me left—for the heinous crime of even looking like a serial dater. Cue the sturm und drang.

A 2019 story in Women’s Health warns readers what to avoid: A serial dater loves the thrill of the chase and the excitement of the beginning, then jumps ship—to a first date with another person—before anything too serious can develop. And they love the power of doing so.

Oof.

The power part is definitely not good. And it doesn’t have to be true. First dates are necessary. And if we continue to take a Buddha-inspired approach, our hearts will always stay open. 

But, I have to say, it’s getting harder and harder to meet someone I’d like to see across the breakfast table in the morning.

So here’s a spoon in cheek guide to recognizing the real culprits. They’re the cereal daters. Perhaps you know the types.

Mr/Ms Fruit Loops. Within an hour of meeting, it’s clear they’re crazy. You’re their soul mate. Or you’re just like their bitch ex spouse. Or you’re both. The next morning, they send you a text rant that’s rife with accusations and wild imaginings. They offer to meet you again. 

Mr/Ms Alpha Bits. They peck away on text—good morning, good night—and over-use emojis. They write u instead of you. They hang themselves with bad punctuation and spelling, so you never get together. Nobody remembers why.

Mr/Ms Wheaties. They’re all about adrenaline. They’re seeking something casual and they hope your ski pass aligns with theirs. Their photos show solo sky dives and yogic contortions and facial hair covered in ice. They say: If it rains on Sunday and I can’t ride my bike, how about we maybe get together. 

Mr/Ms Rice Krispies. They Snap and Crackle—ooh, la, la—until Pop, it’s over. First date: Red Rocks. They buy the ticket and pack the picnic and dance and sing out loud. They’ve got charisma. They make you laugh. But then they run out of stories. They say: If you’ve seen one sunset, you’ve seen them all.

Mr/Ms Frosted Flakes. They’re effusive with the compliments. Eager to make future dates. They have real potential. They say: You’re Grrrreeeaaaatttt! and you might even say it back. But something isn’t quite right. So you say, Sorry Tiger. I don’t think so.

When I think about my dream cereal, I remember my childhood. My parents forbade sugar in the house, so we lived on Grape Nuts and Cheerios. At sleepovers though, I devoured the Cap’n Crunch. 

So sweet. And also so bold and buttery. My taste buds were excited!

The sharp edges of the squares would tear up the roof of my mouth. But I’d keep on eating. The cold milk numbed the pain.

So, Mr Cap’n Crunch. If you’re out there, hit me up.

You’ll be sweet, and savory, and crazy in a good way. You’ll use your words. You’ll be just the right amount of sporty. 

And you’ll know when I’m making a joke.