Young at heart, fun-loving Singleton

The cursor flashed in the white box, waiting, impatient as a tapping foot, for her reply.
‘ Give a brief description of yourself and what you’re looking for.’
Gemma paused, while she tried to think of words that could adequately and truthfully describe herself. Mother, hopefully one day grandmother, daughter, sister. Environmentalist, sentimentalist, reader, knitter of very long scarves, maker of a very passable pavlova, school secretary, keeper of many of the children’s secrets, church goer but not so committed that people try to avoid you in the supermarket - she was all of these things. Yet none of them captured the essence of who she was. ‘That’s the trouble with words,’ Gemma thought. ‘They can only convey a little about what it’s like to be me. They can’t ever really tell the whole story.’
‘Look what you’ve brought me to’ she said to the photo on the desk beside the computer. ‘I used to think that only oddballs and saddos used these sites.’
Harold looked back at her from his frame, and she knew that the sweet blue eyes were telling her to go ahead, he didn’t mind. He loved her and wanted her to be happy.
‘Oh Harold. It’s so hard to build up a life without you. Everything is made for coupledom. You’re just not wanted in the cinema or theatre or in a restaurant when you’re alone – everyone thinks you’re odd.
If I make ask a friend to go for a night out, her husband suspects me of trying to lead his wife into devilment of one sort or another and the one time I met a male I felt comfortable with, everyone seemed to think we were an item and suddenly I was propelled into a social life with someone I actually only wanted as a bowls partner.’
Gemma stopped, and bit down on her lip. She had learned long ago that self-pity turned easily into a greedy parasite that consumed her well being. Slowly she kissed her fingers and brought them to the glass. ‘You silly old codger. I always knew you were going to die and leave me high and dry like this.’
She turned her attention back to the screen. How could she describe herself in a way that would encourage the right type of companion?
Lets see, well, she was young at heart, she was friendly and fun-loving –wasn’t she?
So –Young at heart, fun loving singleton – likes good company, meals out, country walks, seeks good hearted gent, must like dogs and children. She read it back to herself, mouthing the words.
She leaned back on the chair asking herself whether the text gave an adequate description of what she was looking for in life?
In her heart she knew it didn’t. Not in any real sense. The truth was more along the lines of ‘58 year old women, widowed for almost 12 years, still misses her husband, and seeks something like the life she used to have when she was married to the most wonderful man on the planet. Hasn’t had much fun since then but thinks she is ready to give it a try. Part of the package includes a surly 16 year old daughter who needs a man’s firm hand and a dog that chews slippers and refuses to sit in the boot of the car.’
‘Would that attract the right type of mate?’ She arched an eyebrow at Harold.

Young at heart, fun-loving singleton it is then.