This time, I was back to him after just half an hour spent watching House of Cards.
Username: lady_reporter
Oops! Sorry, serves me right for emailing and getting distracted by my salted caramel sauce at the same time.
To answer your question, I’m an investigative journalist on a current affairs show here in Dublin. It’s a very full schedule and it’s demanding, but even on the bad days, when it’s 5 a.m. and I’m shivering in sub-zero temperatures outside Mountjoy Prison, covering some convicted drug baron’s release, I still wouldn’t swap it for anything.
Got to dash, need my two hands to use the Magimix.
I winced a bit at the sheer barefacedness of the lie, because basically all the above is just a teeny bit of an exaggeration. An investigative reporter on a current affairs show? I only bleeding wish. In actual fact I’m a lowly researcher and while my dream is one day to work on TV news, the sad reality is that the only gig I can get these days is on an afternoon phone-in show; one of those caller-dependent programmes where listeners ring in to give out about their social welfare being cut or else the price of the bin charges. And my job is to trawl through the papers and the Internet in the hope that some good, juicy, contentious news item will jump out at me, which our presenter then invites callers to ring in on and pitch their two cents’ worth about.
But then I glanced back at my last post and thought shag it anyway. Besides, it wasn’t an out and out porker, just a tweaking and a slight embellishment of the truth, that was all. Huge difference. And everyone cheats the small stuff a wee bit online, don’t they? It’s a truth universally acknowledged that if a guy says he’s ‘chubby’, it means ‘morbidly obese’. Similarly, ‘fond of fun times’ means ‘swinger.’ Oh, and ‘enjoys a few drinks’ means ‘would gladly suck the alcohol out of a deodorant bottle’.
Online it’s acceptable, I told myself. Everyone does it, and the way I look on it, this is just how you level out the playing field. And I’m sure this guy is no different. So maybe he’s a little older than I’m assuming, or maybe he’s not six feet tall, like he claims. But when it comes down to it, these are all relatively minor concerns, aren’t they?
Yet again, he was back to me almost instantly.
From: Guy_in_the_Sky
Wow. Sure didn’t realize I was messaging a bona fide celebrity! What a fascinating job; sure as hell is more interesting than mine, I can tell you.
PS I’m guessing you got a real pretty first name.
And I’d sure love to know what it is.
Username: lady_reporter
Holly. It’s Holly.
From: Guy_in_the_Sky
A real pleasure to meet you, Holly from Ireland, even if it is only virtually. I’m Andy McCoy, at your service.
Really gotta go; Logan’s throwing a football into my face right now. Oh, and I forgot to mention, I’m a commercial pilot for the good people over at Delta Airlines. I fly the transatlantic route mostly and travel over and back to Ireland regularly. Shannon mostly, but Dublin too. Friendliest people in the world, and boy, are the girls pretty.
Over and out, Ma’am, for the moment at least.
At your service,
(Captain) Andy McCoy.
‘Holly Johnson! You are one barefaced liar and you should be utterly ashamed of yourself!’
I was sitting at our tiny kitchen table for this earbashing from my flatmate Joy. It was not long after I first ‘met’ Andy online, and I was topping up our glasses with a bottle of Pinot Grigio that I’d bought us as a Friday night treat to have along with a bowl of pasta. And frankly I was starting to regret that I’d ever bothered confiding in Joy, who was sitting right opposite me, eyebrows knitted down crossly.
‘But doesn’t he sound just so lovely? Captain Andy McCoy,’ I distinctly remember trying to convince her. ‘And get of load of the profile picture he sent me … look! He’s got eyes exactly like Matthew McConaughey.’
‘You told him you could bake! Out and out pork pies, Holly. You even had the cheek to embellish it, by blathering on about getting flour and apricot jam all over your iPad, for feck’s sake.’
‘I know, but …’
‘… Listen to this for a big load of my arse! “Baking is my fundamental switch-off mechanism.” When we both know the only “baking” you did last night was to shove your lean cuisine dinner for one into the microwave.’
‘Yeah, OK, so you and I may know that, but he doesn’t …’
‘… You never even go near the oven in this kitchen, unless you want to check the time on the clock. And as for that load of horse dung about “my chocolate cherry cupcakes are worthy of The Great British Bake Off”? That sounds like such a cheesy come-on, if I ever heard one! Who do you think you are anyway, Nigella?’
‘… But the thing is, everyone knows it’s been statistically proven that guys are more attracted to women who can bake. I’ve been online dating for a scarily long time now and I know that much at least is true – so why not?’
‘… In fact, just for the laugh, I’d love you to show me where we keep our springform baking tin. And if you can tell me the difference between that and a Kugelhopf tin, then I’ll gladly hand you a tenner right now. Mother of God, you’ve even lied about your height! “Tall and slender?” Holly, you’re five foot three! You think you’re not going to get caught out in that one pretty quick? Suppose you ever meet up with this guy? What are you going to do, sprout an extra nine inches in the meantime?’
Thing was, I’d made the cardinal error of physically showing Joy all the backwards and forwards messaging that went on between myself and Andy McCoy ever since that very first night and now she was reading it off my iPad and guffawing.
‘Oh and so now you’re a skydiver as well?’ she said dryly. ‘You, that has to take a Xanax and knock back a gin and tonic before you’ll even get on a Ryanair flight? And you also go mountaineering? Can this be the same Holly Johnson who gets vertigo even sitting on the top deck of a bus?’
‘And what’s so wrong about coming across as being an active type?’ I asked her in a small voice, flushing to my roots and wishing to God there was some other way to get off this deeply mortifying subject.
‘Nothing wrong with it, if it’s the truth,’ she said crisply, tossing geometrically sharp, jet-black bobbed hair over her shoulder. ‘But let’s face it, your idea of being active is to join a gym, pay a year’s subscription, then drop out after the first month.’
I was silenced here, mainly because this would be a fairly accurate assessment, but Joy still wasn’t done.
‘Come on, love,’ she said, waving her fork around with a lump of penne pasta wobbling dangerously on the edge of it, for added emphasis. ‘You’ve got to wise up a bit. After all, you’re lying through your teeth here so how can you be certain that this Andy guy, whoever he is, isn’t doing exactly the same thing right back at you? And supposing he is? What’s your master plan then?’
‘Excuse me, for a start I’m always super-careful online,’ I told her stoutly, ‘and over time you just learn to develop an instinct for these things. OK, so maybe Andy is tweaking the odd minor detail about himself; so what? Everyone sexes their lives up a bit online, we’re all guilty of it. But it’s the big stuff that counts, and if