GREYHAIRLADYSPEAKSOUT

The Catfish, the Check, and the Comeback

You’d think that as I draw closer to seven decades of living, running businesses, raising kids (who actually turned out amazing), surviving heartbreak, and celebrating love, I’d have this whole online dating thing figured out.

Spoiler alert: I don’t.

Yes, I got hooked. Hard. And yes, I was embarrassed about it. But let’s be honest, online dating can be strangely entertaining. There’s that little thrill of seeing someone interesting, reading a clever bio, imagining possibilities. It’s like shopping at Target without leaving your couch. And really, who among us hasn’t gotten a big ‘ole fix of Retail Therapy at Target, emotionally or otherwise?

Swiping, Clicking, “Oh, Maybe Not”

It all started innocently. I joined an online dating site on a dare, you know because that rush of uncertainty and risk can make you feel alive again or adventurous, and within minutes, found myself in the endless loop of seeking modern love:
Swipe right, swipe left.
“Oh, he’s cute.”
“Oh, he’s holding a fish, nope.”
Click “like.” Delete. Repeat.

Then he appeared. Sweet. Kind. Complimentary. A little chat here, a little chat there. Pretty innocent.
And I thought, okay, we’re just getting to know each other.
(Famous last words.)

Emails That Felt Real

Weeks went by and we moved from quick chats to emails. Real, thoughtful, well-written ones. We shared stories and pictures, asked questions, and before I knew it, I was looking forward to his messages, and then phone calls.

They made me feel seen. And after nearly thirty years off the dating scene, that felt… well, kind of wonderful.

He was charming. Attentive. Interested.
And yes, my guard started to slip.
(It happens to the best of us.)

Red Flags, Anyone?

Then things took a turn.

He had to go out of town, first New York, then Turkey. (Because of course it’s always Turkey. There must be a scammer convention there.)

Suddenly he’s professing love, telling me how much I mean to him, and wait for it -asking me to receive a $1,000,000+ business check for him while he’s abroad.

A million dollars. In a priority mail envelope. Mailed to my house.

I mean… who does that?

And when his “credit card stopped working” and he needed me to send money to help him get home, I could practically hear the scam sirens going off in my head.

I started playing a little game in my mind:
“Red flag!”
“Another one!”
By the end, I was winning Scam Bingo.

No Money, No Drama

I stood firm. No money. No exceptions.

He tried it all, guilt, charm, flashes of anger, even a little desperation. When none of it worked, he went silent. And that silence? It was the sweetest peace I’d felt in days.

A few weeks later, a text from him pops up:
“I’m back in Florida. I need you to mail me that check?”       

Oh, absolutely. Because that’s exactly how “adult-ing” works.

I keep my response short: “Send me a forwarding address, and I’ll take care of it.” Weeks pass. Crickets. No calls. No emails. Oh…right. Then I Blocked him. Mic drop.

So now the check’s sitting safely in my safe, and I’m seriously considering sending it to the bank’s fraud department, mostly so I can stop feeling like I’m hiding evidence in a spy movie.

At the end of the day, falling for a catfish isn’t just about being fooled, it’s about hope, vulnerability, and the deep human longing to connect. It can sting like a cold splash of reality, shake your trust, and leave you questioning what’s real. But it also teaches us to listen to our instincts, set firm boundaries, and value honesty above all else. Real connection isn’t built on polished photos or clever words, it’s in the warmth of genuine attention, the comfort of shared moments, and the quiet assurance of truth. Deception may leave a mark, but it can’t take away your capacity to love, connect, and keep your heart brave.

The Comeback

Here’s what I learned from this little adventure in “romance gone rogue”:

• Sweet words are nice, but your gut is nicer.
• Boundaries are beautiful. Keep them.
• If it feels too good to be true, it probably involves a foreign country.
• And above all, learn, laugh, and move on.

Because honestly? Those sweet words and compliments did make me feel good for a while. They built my confidence again, and I can’t be too mad about that.

Yes, I was frustrated. Yes, it stung. And yes, I felt silly. But it also reminded me that I’m still very much alive, still hopeful, still open, still learning.

The Faith-Filled Takeaway

When I finally stopped cringing long enough to pray about it, I felt that quiet nudge in my spirit that said, “See? Even here, I’m with you.”

It wasn’t really about the man, or the money, or even the mistake, it was about grace. About rediscovering the part of myself that still believes in love, still blushes at kind words, and still trusts that God can turn even our most foolish moments into lessons of strength and laughter.

Looking back, I realize getting cat fished only cost me a little embarrassment and a few emotions, but not a dime. What I gained, though, was far more meaningful: I found the joy of writing again, the confidence that I’m truly alright, and the quiet reassurance that everything will be okay. Because no matter how many red flags flutter by, I’d rather have a heart that hopes than one that’s hardened. And maybe that’s the real comeback was in keeping faith that love, in all its forms, is still worth showing up for. So, in the end, I don’t see it as a loss at all, I see it as a win, and maybe even a small, unexpected blessing in disguise.

Your Turn

Have you ever been cat fished, or nearly?
Did you catch it early, or did it take a while before the red flags came out?
I’d love to hear your story. Share your thoughts in the comments below, and maybe together we’ll find a little humor, a little healing, and a lot of grace in the lessons love teaches us.

Fish or Cut Bait,

Marie