Woman successfully sues dating agency over lack of men
08-18-2018, 05:23 PM
I saw this a while back and was going to make a thread on it. This was some time back though - a few months at least. Maybe it was another case. It might have been, thinking about it.
It probably isn't the first and it certainly won't be the last.
Matchmaking has always gone on, but it's been a social and class and even religious thing. The services offered here weren't so much 'dating' but 'matchmaking'. That's a tall order.
The company has some chutzpah to even attempt this, but they found enough rubes to make it viable. So it seems. One got a bit peeved she didn't find Prince Charming. Probably a dozen before her who bit their tongue and hid their pride.
By the same token, how fuck dumb do you have to be, I mean, deluded dumb, to have a laundry list of expectations like that and to even imagine they could be conjured in to reality. Methinks someone read too much harry potter.
Yes, it's desperation. Yes it's a scam. Yes, it's stupidity and obliviousness. They are all guilty by degrees.
This is a litmus test for all you 40 year old girlies out there now reading RVF and lurking. This is free advice. Try this:
Go out to a bar. Any bar. Be it a biker bar, a wine bar in the city. A trendy bar in a trendy part of Shoreditch or wtf is hip at the moment. Just go somewhere you won't be raped, of course. You'll be good in most of London.
Go out by yourself, or perhaps go out with a girlie pal. No males. This is part of the test.
Now, in a pub full of drunken and probably fairly successful (in their field) men, how many of them approach? Chat you up? Give you the eye?
Men are dogs. It's true. We are beasts who are never sated. Always looking for the next lost cave girl to drag by the hair back to our tribe and cave. But still, keeping that in mind, what do you find?
If you look anything like the model of our story here, the original poster girl who our narrative is wrapped around, well, you might get some chavs, some herberts, some deluded alchies trying their hand. But do you get any Chads? Any Rodrigos? Any Ivans?
And if so, are they broke bums waiting tables on their night off, or are they there, fair lady, to meet a lost soul like you, to capture you and take you back to chez Chad in their illegally parked Helicopter?
This is an easy test to do. It might save you 10,000 grand and much more embarrassment.
We don't hate you for playing the game. We play it too. But don't hate us for playing the game as well.
I say this with no bitterness and as a RVF Community Service Announcement to all you good girlies lurking and looking for life advice in this dirty corner of the internet.
I know what it's like to hit the wall. Time waits for no man, or woman. We are all equal in the end.
If only you knew how much we loved you. Wanted to love you. How much it hurt when you said you loved us, but you didn't, or rather you did, but something better came along, not by much, usually just a bit, and you turned our worlds upside down. We can hurt too.
Men are the fairer sex in many many ways. Women need to be harder. But let's not let this digress in to an essay on hard biology.
Let this be a lesson to you all, fair ladies. It is biology. The same biology that makes you want to fuck the brains out of Chad or Rodrigo, cheating on your husband and father of your children of 10 years.
Don't come it with us lassie!
Even the old and shattered and broken among us know your game. Better than those soon to become old and shattered and broken. Even here we can only impart so much knowledge to cocky young men that know it all. And good for them. They make the world go around. The Chads, the Rodrigos. Even the odd Herbert might surprise you if you look long enough with the right kind of eyes.
Kiss the frog.
And let us eat the peach.
But true love will never be found by being prey to those that that exploit your dreams and unrealistic expectations. This is really not about money. Men don't want your money. Only other women do.
Make yourself available. Dress nice. Smell nice. Don't go overboard. Be open. Go out there in to the big bad world. A lot of men are creeps and beasts, it's true. But most of us aren't. You will know us by a look in our eye. Our posture. The way we speak. The way we listen. And we do listen. We listen very very hard to what you have to say. You would not believe how hard we listen. Though it may not seem like it.
There's a place for all of you girls. You older ladies even, if you choose. You might have to be nice. You might have to be pleasant. You don't need an agency to skim you 10K for that.
Now, I'm not suggesting you go and pick up the nearest homeless bum and buy him breakfast. Not with a view to romantic relationships at least. Most homeless are homeless for a reason. Keep your wits about you.
But maybe, just maybe, drop the bar, and lower your expectations a little bit. There are millions of men out there for you. Probably not a man like me, as broken as I am. You can't afford me. I would never put up with your shit in a million years. Just physically incapable of it, sorry. But there are many other men that will tolerate you and love you, even - good men.
You have the highest market value, let's be realistic - you can pick and choose a bit. But do you really think Chad, Rodrigo or Ivan is going to pass up that prime piece of pussy he's been pounding for the past week just to prospect for you? Not going to happen. Basic biology. No need for a lesson. Common sense should prevail.
And even if he did. You would think less of him. Such is your biology. Because you always want what you can not have. And you always devour that which you have had. As a heuristic. Of course.
And even if you got Ivan in his illegally parked Sikorsky to whirl you home, would you still love him in the morning, after he had ravished you? Think hard before you answer Lassie!
You would probably find hidden depths to your perversion that not even you had touched upon before in your wildest fantasies. Herbert, the gangly cock-eyed pool boy with a stutter would be looking like fresh meat to you now by this point, wouldn't he? Admit it! It's ok.
It's not just us men that like forbidden meat, sorry, fruit...
:-)
This has been a RVF Public Service Announcement to the good ladies that lurk at RVF.
Your ever so sincere, Agony Uncle Rigsby has to go now as he also has some cats to feed and some beer to drink (but not strictly in that order).
Normal service can resume. As you were, good men of RVF!
Feel free to give these bitches some advice of your own. They won't thank you for it. But maybe, in a strange kind of way, they might still love you in the morning...
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