Too Picky on Paper?

For a picky girl, online dating unearths many frustrating anxieties -- namely, the same major concern as regular dating: the fear of dying sad and alone.

Before you scoff at the evils society has perpetrated on my hope for the future, hear me out. Let's say I sign into my Match.com account on a typical morning to check out who's on the chopping block for my "Daily 5" (the aptly named daily 5 guaranteed matches). It goes something like this:

• Match 1:  The first contender is 27 (like me) and starts out strong: decent photos, never married, no kids, social drinker, etc. But there's just not enough content in the "In His Own Words" section for my comfort. I mean, I'm a writer by trade -- I can't date someone who's shy with words. Rejected.
• Match 2:  The next dude has the same problem and has written even less. But there's another issue -- he only has one photo. I'm not trying to seem shallow, but c'mon. Everyone knows you can't tell what someone looks like from one picture, and if you're not even remotely interested and helping me get a feel for what you're bringing to the table based on your profile, why should I waste my time? Rejected.
• Match 3:  After the last two matches, I immediately check to make sure there's a novella on this guy's page. So far so good. There are several pics, and they're not bad. But he's just not very eloquent. He brings up his mother. His favorite color is black. The clincher is that he describes himself as "shy." I am not in the market for a wallflower. Rejected.
• Match 4:  This candidate is from my hometown, love sports (like me) and doesn't look bad in a bathing suit. He's just not tall enough though. And he kinda looks like a frat boy. If there was something about his answers that sparked my interest enough, I'd be totally willing overlook these small offenses, but the writing is bland and I quickly get bored. Rejected.
• Match 5:  Last chance for today. This guy actually has promise. He's cute, seems smart and gives off the distinct impression that it's unlikely he's a psychopath. He even starts the profile off with warm and funny anecdote about his dog. And yet … is it me or is this story droning on too long? And then I find it -- the deal breaker: a wayward comma. Now, lest you think I'm being too harsh, let me explain. This comma is not just misplaced, it's like a clown at a funeral: It has no business being there whatsoever. Rejected.

At this point, it dawns on me that my scrutiny has won me exactly zero chances at finding someone to grab a bite with. And yet, I just can't force myself to reconsider. The reality, of course, is that I shouldn't have to. So I renew my stubborn resolve to weed out the duds … then I go have dinner alone, again.