Hi, I'm Deborah, a 40yo California girl who lives in Surrey and works in London as an Editor. I divorced a Sarf Londoner six years ago. No serious entanglements since. Our two children stay with me at weekends. I'm a tall, elegant 5ft8 and size 18, a bit overweight.

NO CASUAL SEX. The only men who'll nail me on a first date are Axl Rose and Skeet Ulrich. Oh... and Daniel Craig. And none of them are on POF (I've checked).

You are:
Caucasian, gentlemanly, sweet-natured, humble, respectful, unassuming and enjoy family life. You're a right bit of eye candy, too. A solid man with simple, unwavering values.

How NOT to impress Debzindahouse:
I've met some charming, intelligent people on dating sites over the years but, to find them, you have to pick your way through a heaving mass of cowards, pervs, liars, playas, flakes, mommies' boys and cheats. Some of my fondest memories...

1. Knuckle-Dragging Cretin fouls my inbox with this little gem today:

"I know we could have the most amazing fun this weekend, but please dont become a stalker and call me 50 times a day or else I'll have the cops pay you a visit with a restraining order in hand! What say you - you up for it?"

Me: "What part of "NO CASUAL SEX" confused you? You MUST be joking."

Cretin: "Well uh, yes and no. Except not no. So to sum it up, yeah..."

Me: "You are arrogant, up your own ar*e, presumptuous, misogynistic, sleazy, morally bankrupt, socially backward, deeply unattractive and very likely a latent homosexual riddled with weeping, pustulate sores of the sexually transmitted variety. So to sum it up, my answer is a resounding 'no'."

2. Met a local POFer recently. He was vertically, er, challenged but good-looking, polite and jolly. Over a long, giggly chat, it appeared we shared similar outlooks and humor. He said I look younger than my age and charitably suggested I replace the "BBW" on my profile with "curvy" (instant house points for YOU, sir!). It was a nice evening and we agreed to do it again. Predictably (sigh), I haven't heard from him since. Men, eh? Maybe I'll leave the whoopee cushion and false tash at home next time...

3. Message arrives from a blithering POF geriatric who concludes, based solely on the contents of my profile, that my life "lacks direction" and I need "councelling" [sic]. Poor old chuck - it's hard to look clever when you're dribbling on your d-i-ckie bow.

4. A first meet starts out promising. He's tall, blond, dishy, ticks the boxes and we enjoy a lively exchange. An hour in, I suggest food. He's already eaten, he says - I'll have to order for myself. Strike One: He's too tight to cough for a plate of nachos. Strike Two comes when we get up to leave - he bolts off and waits by the door until I catch up. I hate that! A gentleman walks out with the woman. Now, all things considered, I've enjoyed his company, so I agree to a second date. Perhaps his manners will improve? But the day comes and he cancels - via text, no less - with a wormy excuse. Strike Three: If you must cancel, you ring to apologise - with a valid excuse. Number deleted.

5. Message from a POF newbie delivers a corker of an ice-breaker: he concludes I'm unlikely to attract a partner because my career and kids leave too little time for a relationship. Eh? What this needy, petulant man-child really means is that my responsibilities threaten his priority status as white-hot centre of the universe. He probably still lives with his mother.

6. I meet a POFer for a drink. He's easy on the eye and soft-spoken, but only an act of God will steer his dialogue away from sex (disturbingly, he reveals a predilection for sticking things up his backside). At my door, he presumptuously invites himself inside for 'coffee' but gets short shrift for his troubles. Later, he asks for a second chance. Making it clear sex is not on the menu, I agree to a second meet. So does he ask me to dinner or a show like a gentleman? No, the tightwad again invites himself round for 'a chat and a drink'. God may love a trier, but I kick him to Room 101 lol

7. A few years ago, I met a tall, blue-eyed Danish chap at a nightclub. We started dating and, a month in, I invited him round for dinner. When presented with a plate of pork chops, his face fell. He's Muslim, he admitted, and not Danish, either - he's Albanian. He was repentent for his deception but eventually we fizzled.

Can anyone explain...
...why the men I like don't like me, and I don't like the ones who like me???? Grrrrr...

---------!!!------- Put this on your
---------!!!------- page if you
---!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!--- know someone in the
---------!!!------- armed forces or to
---------!!!------- show your support
---------!!!------- and respect to all
---------!!!------- our troops

-----------------Women-------------------
------------are like apples-------------
--------on trees. The best ones---------
------are at the top of the tree--------
-----The men don't want to reach--------
---for the good ones because they ------
-are afraid of falling and getting hurt.-
Instead, they just get the rotten apples-
--from the ground that aren't as good,---
but easy. So the apples at the top think
-something is wrong with them, when----
--in reality, they're amazing. They just----
--have to wait for the right man to come--
----along, the one who will be brave--------
-------enough to climb all the way----------
---------------up to the top.---------------

Chuck me a haddock and I'll do my impression of a sea lion.

Live in United Kingdom
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