More Muffia (The Muffia Book 2) by Ann Royal Nicholas

adversity?
     
     
    “ Match.com, Nowlove or PlentyofFish ? Which one should we sign up for?” I asked Vicki, the Muff I’d chosen for the online dating adventure.
    A motor whirred into use in the kitchen on the other end of the line, the creation of a fresh anti-oxidant juice in progress. “Vicki?”
    “Hold on, I’m checking the blogosphere.”
    “What are you putting in that juice?” I hoped to be heard over the din. “Sounds like tree trunks.”
    “Carrots, kale with some probiotic and wheatgrass thrown in. But I’m reading the opinion blogs while I’m doing it.” Another probiotic freak.
    Vicki was the best Muff to share the slings and arrows of online dating with because: (A) She had experienced adversity and would be able to withstand the probable vicissitudes of searching for love on the Internet; (B) Of the single Muffs with whom I might share this experience, her marriage had been over long enough to give her a healthy perspective; and (C) She was game.
    None of the other Muffs was the right choice for one reason or another. Madelyn didn’t want to, Rachel was off men, and Jelicka was still wounded after her recent divorce—no matter what she said. Plus, she was pushing Cougarlife.com like she owned it. While I may be the right age for cougar status, I’m totally the wrong temperament. And I would never give money to a company that ran a jingle with the lyric, “Cougar life dot com, so many women to try.” So many women to try ? What were we—a pu-pu platter? Clearly it was a site set up for cubs, not cougars.
    The motor continued. If Vicki was talking, I couldn’t hear her.
    “Should I call back?” I yelled.
    The juicemaster went off.
    “According to this blogger,” she said, “I think we’re good to go with any of those three. I know women who’ve met nice guys on each of ‘em, which proves… ” I heard her slurp her juice concoction. “ Mmm, tastey. Sorry. I guess, you know, theoretically, there are good men to be found anywhere.”
    Theoretically was a little speculative, but I was determined to remain upbeat about the prospects. “So you’re saying, ‘just pick.’ ”
    “ Whoa … ” Vicki was obviously reading something on her screen but offering nothing more.
    “Bad review?”
    She took another slurp. “The little bot fishes, or whatever they’re called, know I’m looking at dating sites, and suddenly I’m getting pop-up ads for other sites. I just got one asking me to try Dateafarmer.com .”
    “If the idea of dating a farmer wasn’t just plain odd, that would be really creepy.”
    “Don’t worry. When we hang up, I’ll search for gluten-free restaurants, missile launch systems and adult diapers. That will keep the data miners busy wondering about my ulterior motive.”
    “You sound like Jelicka,” I said, slightly concerned. “You know, dating shouldn’t be this hard. I hope we don’t turn into a bunch of whiny, crotchety old women who start every sentence with, ‘Back in the good ol’ days… ’ ”
    “Here’s one,” Vicki plowed on. “ Singlechristianteapartiers.com. I’ll take Dateafarmer over Singlechristianteapartiers , I’ll tell you that much. What do you think about farmers?”
    “Farmers are great and totally necessary, but to date ?” I just didn’t see it.
    “Aren’t they the new venture capitalists?”
    “I don’t think so, Vick. In L.A., the definition of a farmer is a guy growing hemp on reclaimed land in Compton.”
    Sameer appeared at the edge of my cubiffice, looking slightly put out. “My parents are farmers in Tamil Nadu, and my grandparents before them. Farming is a noble profession where I am from.”
    “It’s noble everywhere.” I covered the phone. “When we were in Japan and I saw Viggo on that tractor, I thought, where would we be without farmers ?”
    Sameer waggled his head, turned and walked away . I watched him, wondering how much he’d heard.
    “What if you could meet an organic egg producer?” Vicki was