2007 - Vol. 4, Issue 5

Tomorrow afternoon I have a date — the first one I've had in a year. But this morning, I got a hickey — from Jersey, my nearly blind retired service dog. She likes to be affectionate in the morning, and she usually gives my face a few quick licks when I wake up. She is saying, "I'm so glad you're awake; now you can feed me."

However, on occasion, if Jersey's feeling extra lovey–dovey, she will "nibble" me. Nibbling is not like biting or nipping. It's a grooming behavior, indicating affection. Basically, the dog acts like I have a flea and presses her teeth against me and makes tiny biting motions. Usually she nibbles my arm, and it's endearing as long as my sleeve is down. But when bare skin gets pinched between those sharp little teeth, it hurts!

This particular morning, after getting out of bed, I was on the toilet, which put me right at dog level. Jersey came over, her stumpy tail wagging, asking to be patted. I hugged her neck and rubbed her belly. In an uncharacteristic fit of adoration, Jersey nibbled the closest thing to her snout: my neck.

"Yeeouch!" I screamed. The poor dog jumped three feet in the air, then bonked her head on the sink cabinet as she attempted to flee in terror. When I looked in the mirror, my fears were realized: On my neck was a red mark with a bruise in the center. In other words, a hickey. A dog hickey.

I'd spoken several times on the phone with my date and been upfront that I wasn't seeing anyone else. How was I going to explain the mark on my neck: "No, really, it's not what you think. My dog gave me this hickey"?

And I wonder why I haven't had a date in a year.

I have tried to date. I should get marks for that (but not on my neck — nyerk, nyerk) because DWD (dating while disabled) can be quite a challenge.

First of all, it's difficult to meet people, since most pickup venues, such as classes, bars, or the produce area of the grocery store ("My, that's a shapely cucumber you have in your basket") are inaccessible to me. That leaves personal ads, which are frequented by humorless, desperate, bitter, picky losers — in other words, people like me, except that I have a sense of humor. However, despite the odds, occasionally I hit it off with someone and start emailing back and forth. But there are those "getting to know you" questions that can be tricky for many of us disabled folks to answer, such as:

• What do you do for work?

• Do you like (fill–in–the–blank inaccessible activity or venue)?

• Do you mind that I'm an ableist jerk?

Well, most people don't actually say that last one, but they should; it would save a lot of time, because once I disclose that I'm disabled, potential dates have one of the four following responses:

(1)
(That's the sound of no response. It's very Zen, like one hand clapping, only shittier.)

(2) "That's too bad, because I'm really looking for someone to climb up rocky ledges before bungee jumping down to kayak through crocodile–infested waters with me. Let's just be friends."

(3) "Oh my God! That's horrible! Is there anything that can be done? Tell me all the intimate details about your condition. Which medications have you tried? Have you tried yoga? My sister's best friend's step–uncle–in–law's boss had that and he was cured by the Zone Diet. You are such an inspiration to me! Let's just be friends."

Then there is a fourth category — responses from people who defy categorization. Here are some examples of these "special" people I've dated. To protect their anonymity, I'll use pseudonyms.

"The Subliminator" is one I've dated a few times, always in a new guise. (Those nondisabled folks can be so sneaky!) The Subliminator's hidden message is, "Even though I know you want a sexual relationship, and I said I wanted that, too, I assumed we both understood that because you're disabled, I really only want to be friends." And with friends like the Subliminator, who needs  .  .  .  um  .  .  .  sex?

Another special type is "Hinderella," who is super–interested in helping, helping, helping you, until she starts hurting you. When you confront Hinderella, she points out how much help you need — which she has been providing you, unasked, too! — so you really have no right to complain if she treats you lousy.

Then there's "Shithead." There are many Shitheads out there, and they come with a variety of traits. The most important characteristic is that they seem so promising at first. For instance, I met a Shithead who was smart and funny and, after some initial hesitancy about my disability, asked to meet me. The date was nice, but I didn't feel any "spark." I assumed the feeling was mutual, and we parted genially.

However, the next day, Shithead called to ask me out again, explaining that — while not actually intending to date me — she was surprised to find that I was "cuter than [another woman with the same disability]" and "less disabled than I expected." I was too stunned to say anything but what I'd already thought, which was that I didn't feel we had good chemistry for a relationship. She was offended; after all, hadn't she just paid me two compliments?

Fast–forward a year: A friend of mine who is also disabled (we'll call her "Cathy"), answers one of Shithead's personal ads, without knowing it is Shithead. When Cathy reveals her disability, Shithead tells her about meeting me (without realizing that Cathy and I know each other) and informs Cathy that the experience of dating me made it clear to her never to date disabled women. (That's right — I've ruined Shithead for the rest of you. Sorry!) Ironically, Cathy previously had an experience with someone similar to Shithead (we'll call this person "Shithead Doppelganger" — "ShitDang" for short), and then I unwittingly answered ShitDang's ad. Having suffered the trauma of nearly dating a disabled person before, ShitDang sent me the email excerpted below:

"Dear Sharon,

"Before I go into further detail about myself, I request that you read the previous ad I posted. There is information regarding my preferences regarding tobacco use, drugs, stature, and ability that was not included in the ad you responded to. I want to make sure it is clear what I seek and what I shun. Thanks."

I was a little concerned with ShitDang's use of the words "stature," "ability," and "shun." But I checked out her other ad anyway. Then I sent the email below.

"Hi ___.

"Well, I am certainly glad you told me to read your other ads. I saw your 'disease–free and able–bodied' requirement and that made me wonder: How disease free must a person be? I had mono in high school; the virus stays in your system forever. And how do you define able–bodied? Maybe you should list more specific criteria like, 'Must be able to lift X pounds or walk X number of feet' or something. Also, does this include nonphysical disabilities, such as a learning disability or ADD or a history of depression in the family? You really can't be too careful, because not only might you get involved with some icky disabled person, but there's always the chance you could fall in love with someone who is as perfect as yourself, and then what if she's in a car accident or gets an illness or grows old? You'd have to dump her and that would waste a lot of your time.

"The one thing I can say for you is that you put your prejudices right out front. However, I ask that you put your ableist standard in every ad so I won't ever accidentally answer one again.

–Sharon"

I know I was a little harsh. I could have tried to educate ShitDang. For instance, I could have explained that the preferred term is not "able–bodied" but "nondisabled." Also, I didn't suggest that she ask potential dates for their medical records, which could really help in discerning who to shun.

Despite these setbacks, I continue to search for love. After all, they can't all be Shitheads, right? Maybe the person I'm meeting tomorrow will make me say "Dang!" in a positive way. My only concern is explaining the hickey.