7 Freds
Profile: OkCupid. For this next one, I’d like to preface that perhaps sometimes I am to blame for awkward conversation; there are instances when my wacky antics cause too much distance. It amuses me fine, but unless you have a sense of humor, you’re gonna run for the hills ASAP. Take this guy: attractive male opera singer, to which I had made the joke that I would have expected him to be fat. My profile name on OkCupid is ‘7Freds’ – do not catfish me, I’m a Scorpio, I’ll seek revenge. Due to the well-thought out personality questions that attempt to sum you up after 10 answers, my profile has deemed me to be less conservative, less romantic, more sex-driven, more drug-friendly, less wholesome, and less dominant than the majority of users. I’m so glad the website took a few minutes to figure out decades-worth of behavior, but will it pay the check on the first date?
HIM: Why does your profile say you’re drug friendly?!
First off, everyone has to get their underwear from out their ass about drugs. It says I’m ‘friendly’ not a lover. This means I’m polite to drugs and tease, I don’t go balls-deep in cocaine.
HIM: and it says you’re a submissive slut that does drugs and apparently writes…Fred, I just don’t know where to start.
Yo, what’s up with these dating apps trying to cock block me? Someone got a label maker for Christmas, because I am getting filed! I can’t tell if this dude is serious at this point. I assume he’s joking, but this is the second time he’s mentioned the drugs thing. There is nothing in my profile to even suggest I’m a user, or a slut for that matter – it’s the computer’s misinterpretation of my answers, and I get the scarlet letter. Get ready for the Fred revelation…
ME: BTW Fred is my imaginary pet chickens. I have 7 and they are all named Fred.
Dead serious. Maybe too serious? I, obviously, don’t see chickens, but at some point I made up 7 chickens that are my roommates, and are all named ‘Fred’. I have no idea why they all have the same name, or how they escape daily confusion, or how they have jobs and money to help me pay rent, or what they see in me that they want to include me in their friendship circle, but they just do.
HIM: and you’re crazy…what are you doing to all those chickens?! You PERVERT!! Conversation over…(grabs contacts, bible berkin bag & Gwen Steffani 'i’m just a girl' single & runs)
Again with the labels. Also, why would you automatically assume that I’m sexually assaulting poultry? If that’s the first thing you think of when I tell you I have 7 imaginary chickens ALL named Fred, then you’ve got the problems, honey. P.S. I would never date a guy who clutches a berkin bag. I want a man, not a cliché.
ME: Oh no! Not the Gwen Stefani!! The relationship with my chickens is purely platonic. At this point they’re like roommates. Annoying sometimes. They have day jobs at least.
Analysis: That was the end of our conversation. He never wrote me back, meaning, he was really running and thought me crazy. His purse he keeps in his mouth, which falls out every time he opens up to speak. Freds told me I would not have been happy if we met, but merely disappointed. Any man who gets off on being flirtatious with imaginary chickens is not a man I can bring home to my parents – and I’m deemed less wholesome? It’s not like I said I keep all my exes in a basement somewhere. Freds don’t even take up space – they’re imaginary! Lesson learned: not everyone has a sense of humor, and just because you’re kidding, doesn’t mean everyone else is.
