right and two because I didn’t want to find myself engaged to some old fisherman in some Greek village. I wanted someone to take home for Christmas to show my family that I’m not as pathetic as they think I am. I also want someone to spend Valentine’s day with. Someone who’d fly me to exotic places, kiss me under countless stars, buy me lots of thoughtful presents. Yes, I know that sounds a little superficial, but who didn’t like presents? Yes, I could afford to buy myself a tennis bracelet if I used my credit card, and it would only take me about five years to pay it off, but how much nicer (and cheaper) would it be for some tall strapping handsome man to say to me, “Here, Gemma. Merry Christmas or Happy Valentine’s Day, this gift is to show you how much I value you.” Yeah, I know. I like to daydream, but my daydreams (as well as the Doukas clan) were the impetus that got me to sign up for an exclusive dating agency to send me my perfect matches.
I live in New York City, and while there are plenty of men, there are not plenty of good men. I’ve been on all the usual free dating sites, and well, let’s just say free doesn’t always equal good. I’ve gone on a lot of dates with a lot of really crappy guys, hence the reason I’m still single. I’m relatively attractive at five-foot-six, one-hundred-fifty pounds. I have a pretty nice body. I’m not a supermodel, and I don’t have a six-pack and never will, but I think I look pretty good. I’ve got very long brown hair that is my pride and joy. My eyes are an aquamarine green, that I highlight with the blackest mascara I can find. I’ve been known to spend forty dollars on a tube, but there’s no price too high for beauty, am I right? The mascara seems to work because I’ve been told I have beautiful eyes. Okay, that’s what my dad says. He calls me his beautiful green-eyed girl, but I’ll take it. I need all the compliments I can get.
I decided to sign up with One True Love dating agency, even though the prices were exorbitant. It cost me two thousand dollars. Yes, you read that correctly. Not twenty. Not two hundred. Two thousand dollars. Yeah. I don’t really have that kind of money to pay for a dating agency, but I do have a credit card.
Instead of buying myself that diamond bracelet for Christmas, I decided to treat myself to this membership because hey, if I did wind up with a boyfriend before next Christmas, it would have been worth it. And my new boyfriend would take me on a shopping spree at Tiffany’s or Cartier and it will all work out. I sound like a gold digger, don’t I? Like I only care about meeting a rich man who can buy me expensive gifts. That’s the furthest from the truth. I would date just about anyone. Well, that’s not exactly true. He has to be tall. I’m thinking five-foot-eleven or above. Yeah, I’m only five-foot-six, but I’d like a tall guy. He has to be in shape, and when I say in shape, I mean, abs that go on for days. I know that’s totally superficial of me, especially seeing as I have no abs to talk of myself, but hey, there’s nothing like running your fingers down washboard abs that can turn you on in seconds, no matter what type of day you’ve had.
I want him to have beautiful eyes. I didn’t care about the color. Just so long as they were sparkly, and whenever they looked at me I felt something tingling inside. He had to have nice lips of course, and strong muscular arms. I wanted him to wrap his arms around me, and make me feel like no one could ever hurt me. Yeah, I was asking for a lot, but hey, if the dating agency said they could deliver, who was I to say no? I uploaded about five different photographs of myself. All of them very good shots. I didn’t believe in uploading any fugly pics to show my true side. He could see that the next morning after we had hot sex, thank you very much.
Nope, I went with five very natural staged shots. I asked my best friend, Sarah to take them for me. She couldn’t believe that