Just like the next person, I’m creeped out by the targeted pop-up ads that appear on my e-mail accounts: the wannabe profiteers who try to tap into my proclivities, who gauge me by age, gender, work life, householder status, motherhood, etc.
Though I’ll admit, despite the fact that I never click on any internet ads, I’m still somewhat relieved to see the Hollywood Square –style array of photos of available “hot” single men who supposedly live in my neighborhood.
NOT because I’m in the market—my husband is a catch and a half, and then some—but because I assume that I’m still categorized by the internet gods as a hip socialista— an in-the-mix urban chic girl who would have the time and money and weekends for Federal Hill pub crawling, high-end wine tastings, and extreme mountain climbing.
Not old yet!
Lately, however, I’m not sure what to make of the latest batch of flirtatious ‘singles in Towson’ photos: Thalia, director, Jessica, builder, and Asti, explorer.
I’m not that much in-the-mix . . .