I haven't blogged about my dating woes in a while and sadly it's not because I've been swept up in romance or met someone who 'totally gets me'. As you can imagine, it's quite hard to date during a global pandemic but my silence is also due to my energy rapidly dwindling. The dating admin; the mundane digital chatting; having to 'put myself out there' - it is all so totally exhausting. Then there's sifting through the individuals not looking for a relationship; the ghosters; the catfish; the ones that are emotionally unavailable; and the ones only looking for women size 10 and smaller.
I've also had some pleasant dates that just haven't gone anywhere for one reason or another... and those ones simply don't inspire me to write. Anyway, here I am because I did manage to go on a few dates and it's been long enough now that I'm ready to write about it. This blog is a fine mixture of tragic, odd and actually not too bad on the whole. So, settle in...
It was 7 pm on a Monday evening and I was laying in bed switching between Candy Crush (level 2235, thank you very much) and Instagram, while the canned laughter from Friends echoed around my bedroom. Having 'my' six Friends in the background has become somewhat of a comforter for me.
I wasn't tired nor was I trying to have an early night, I just find being in bed less lonely than being curled up on the sofa in a generously sized living room.
Eventually, with a long sigh, I found my thumb hovering over my 'dating folder' - I opened Bumble and began the zombie-like swiping ritual.
Jeff, 29: "wants kids" - swipe left.
John, 41: "doesn't want kids" - swipe left.
Jim, 33: "loves climbing mountains and being active" - swipe left.
James, 30: "loves nothing more than a night in, snuggling on the sofa with a takeaway - swipe left.
Jacob, 45: "I hope to meet a woman as good as my mum" - SWIPE LEFT
Urgh. What is it that I want? What kind of man would be good for me? One minute I would love to have children in the future and the next I'm quite happy never to do a school run again! Yesterday I wanted to meet a man that will bring out my adventurous side and encourage me to be more active, today I couldn't think of anything worse than a weekend spent hiking up a mountain.
We all know that you can never truly write someone off from a few photos and a very short description, which only serves as a spotlight on hobbies they practise probably only half the time they make it seem.
For example, I love being by the sea, I want more adventure in life and I want to learn to paddle-board - a fact I've included in my dating bio. I also dedicated A LOT of my free time to watching an American reality tv show - something I did not include in my bio.
There I was swiping and suddenly I stopped. Oh hello, Sailor! 29, active, loves water sports and being in nature; friendly eyes, lovely smile, no mention of his mother, and... I recognised him!
Do I know him from school? Hang on, I recognise his friends in one of the photos, why do I know they're a couple? OH. MY. GOSH. He's in that show I've just finished binge-watching! SWIPE RIGHT.
It's a match.
I sent a text to my sister: "oh my goodness, I've just matched with that guy from that show!"
For those lucky enough to have never used dating apps (you smug bastards), women have to send the first message on Bumble and the menfolk have 24 hours to reply; if the guy doesn't respond the 'match' disappears into cyberspace forever.
*dramatic pause*
I 'casually' messaged Sailor Jerry, "Good evening, how's the start of you week been? x"
Smooth, Charlie, Smooth.
Damn, typo. I wrote "YOU", I meant "YOUR". I've fucked it.
22 hours later... no reply.
"Okay, I've got 2 hours left, I'll send one more message; I've got nothing to lose. I know, I'll send a GIF!"
Nice one, Charlie, a little comedy to cloud the scent of desperation.
23 hours... "Woah, almost missed you! Sorry, Charlie, I don't come on here much."
PHEW. Match locked in and we started some polite conversation. We spoke about how he could teach me to paddle-board and swapped niceties about our days. We quickly swapped numbers and sent voice notes instead of messages, we then had a phone call; my word he could talk a lot but I liked it!
Fast forward a few days and he invited me on a walk with his dog. I drove to our meeting point and sent a location pin to my sister - safety first, chums! He may be on TV but he could be a mass murderer!
The walk and the conversation was pleasant - he mentioned his 'media career' and I had to admit that I knew of him. This opened somewhat of a flood gate, made worse when he queried what I did for a living and I told him that I manage social media accounts and worked on influencer campaigns. "Oh, so you totally get it!", he said.
Thus ensued a 'conversation' about when he should post online, what content he should be 'putting out there' and maybe I could help him build a website(!) "Most girls I date just don't get what I HAVE TO DO but you get it", he said.
He thought I was different from other girls? I got a warm glow - oh fuck, I hate myself.
Fast forward to another date and we're in my garden, basking in the sunshine, my legs draped over his knees. Sailor Jerry is regaling yet another story from his travelling days - this one was about how he'd pulled an Aussie girl in a night club using just his flamboyant dance moves. "The trick is to not seem as if you want to sleep with them, just be their friend, then they want to sleep with you."
I know what you're thinking, I should've rolled my eyes and left this 'romance' well alone but he was adorably goofy and clearly clumsy.
He was talking me through the scars on his feet (it gets worse) and he suddenly noticed my feet or rather he noticed my toe nails... I'd lost my toenail clippers and they'd gotten a *little* long, so... he decided he was going to cut them for me. He whipped out a leather pouch, selected some scissors and began hacking at my toenails.
I. WAS. MORTIFIED.
Goodness knows what he must've said to his friends - "cool chick, shame about her twit like toe nails"
It didn't put him off and we arranged another walking date. This time he bought his camera along so we could 'get some fun snaps'. Usually, when a man invites you deep into the woods with a camera, one must do a risk assessment. The scenario ended up being far worse and more sinister than a Stephen King novel. As he set up the tripod and showed me the settings on his camera I realised he wasn't going to be chopping me up into tiny pieces and taking photos...no, it was far worse...
He wanted me to be a #InstagramGirlfriend.
After taking many, many, many photos of him in all sorts of poses, he graciously took some of me and off we went home.
After that 'date' I came to the realisation that he barely knew anything about me and nor did he care to get to know me. He isn't a horrid person, he's simply not 'in that place' that I am, or I'm just not enough to set his world on fire and that's fine too.
Hearing his tales from the TV show and getting to know an eccentric character was fun but I deserve to have a 'somebody' that wants to know me, not just have me know them.
And hunnies, I'm no one's Instagram PA.
On to the next.
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