I make no bones about the fact that I am married to someone addicted to workahol. Maybe I don’t always love this about my spouse, but overall, I tend to be self sufficient enough to be a-okay with it. I do my own thing most of the time, and should I see Dave, I consider it a bonus.

In this light I have been able to watch the entire season of The Simple Life, which I adore. I’ve managed to respond to emails and phone calls. I have a perfectly functional garden. I have also gone through about 564 double A batteries (read: Big Pink Meets Becky: An E! True Hollywood Story).

Life, as it has this weird tendency to do, has crept up on me, knocking the rug out beneath my feet, and *whoops* there goes gravity; Dave became a manager-type thing. Which is great for him because that’s what he wanted to do.

After the 6th straight night of being deserted shortly after dinner, I informed him that if Work was his first wife, and I was his second, then I needed a Boyfriend. Which was where he came in. I carefully laid out my game plan, highlighting such Good Points as:

1.) Think of how much LESS I’ll whine to you!

and

2.) I’ll stop bugging you to come hang out with me because I’m bored! Just get me a new boyfriend!

My short attention span took charge, and I quickly forgot all about my proposition.

The next morning, I roll into work, preparing for another day of death and people threatening to sue me (I am SO not a nurse!) and about mid-morning, I check my personal email (let’s be honest here. I never get emails. Ever. Like seriously, Ever) to read such interesting subject matters as ‘Sexy Baby Bad Erection’ and ‘Cheeep V1AgrA!’ with ‘Thank you for registering at Match.com.’

Certain that it was a hilarious joke, and frankly quite impressed with Dave. I investigated further, assuming that the email was actually spam. The email was from match.com not jahoirwgbruoqwrqh3io2i838yh@match.net, so another dead end.

So I called Dave at work to tell him that he’d really gotten me good this time. I raved and raved about it. What a great joke! My jubilant greeting was met with dead silence. He told me that he had no idea what I was talking about (as per usual). I explained that I had been registered with Match.com by him. He denied it.

In typical Becky-fashion, I didn’t believe him, and began to press harder which was ALSO met by silence and denials. Maybe he *hadn’t* done it!?!

Then who did?

I had no memory of doing so. Dave denied it. Plus, I don’t live in Evanston or even close to Evanston. My brother does, did he do it? Unlikely. He doesn’t have my email address.

Several days passed and while IMing with Pashmina, she mentioned Match.com and certain people that we might know that use the site. I suddenly remember the online profile we’d set up years before and a lightbulb popped up over my dim head.

Thank you Pashmina, for unintentionally bringing badfish8789 back to the world of online dating.

You ready world? Because I’m BACK IN fake dating ACTION.