Truth in Advertising

Dating is one of the few topics that I try to avoid on ye ol’ blog.  If I am dating someone, it’s better not to jinx things by an online declaration of the situation.  If I’m not dating anyone for (let’s just say hypothetically) a really long time, there’s no need to share that fact either.  But maybe, just this once, I’ll vent a little bit about something in that realm.

I helped a patron find the cookbook section of the library earlier today (one of my favorite sections) and walked by the dating advice books on the way back to the reference desk. I always forget where they are, because no one wants to ask a librarian to help them find the dating books.  I get questions about weird medical conditions and romance novels (which, in my head, are more potentially embarrassing than needing relationship advice).  You would think that asking about dating books wouldn’t be a big deal, but it seems to be higher on the embarrassment scale than rashes.  Hmm.  The books get checked out, we just don’t ever, ever get questions about them.

Anyway, I walked by that section and the titles jumped out at me somewhat obnoxiously.  Things like Be Dateworthy! and Why are You Still Single? are kind of hard to ignore, especially when they’re hot pink.  The thing is that I tend to think of books as more or less trustworthy.  My job is to find reliable information for people in those books and other sources.  But in the middle of our carefully selected collection, there’s the literary equivalent of diet pills.

Sure, they promise to change your life, but if that were true, wouldn’t everybody be thin and in a happy relationship?

To be honest, it makes me a little bit upset that these books claim to know why I’m still single.  How do they know if I’m an emotional idiot or don’t ever wear deodorant?!  By the way, making sure to shower on a regular basis was real advice I saw in one of the two dating books I ever dared to open.   Awesome.  I never would have figured that out on my own.

If you’re going to badger me about being single, at least have the decency to introduce me to a nice man.  If you’re going to tell me to shower more often, at least make sure I smell bad in the first place.  If you’re going to claim to have the answer to my very specific life situation, shouldn’t you at least know my name?

You can now imagine me with librarian glasses on the end of my nose, arms crossed, head shaking slowly.  My lack of glasses throws the whole thing off, so instead, I’m just going back to work without any satisfying gestures of disapproval.

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