Kate Sutton



I had a very eventful Sunday morning. Are you sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin.


Dexter’s football match wasn’t until 12pm, but rather than laze in bed all morning (well, I did some lazing), I decided to go for a bike ride. I know! The weather was beautifully sunny, albeit cold and windy, but I figured I’d just leave Dexter at home, I’d cycle to my nearest Costa (nearly 3 miles away), then cycle back – exercise for the day DONE.


I’m surprised at how committed I was because Sunday mornings are normally all about Dexter but anyway, I was jolly proud that I got my act together and went out.


So there I was, having a leisurely coffee, banana and yogurt in Costa, when a man walks past me. I think nothing of it, presuming he’s walking past to get sugar. And then he walks past again. I still didn’t think anything was amiss, until …. HE LEFT A HANDWRITTEN NOTE ON THE BACK OF A NAPKIN ON MY TABLE!


love letter

Ooh, it’s like a scene from a rom/com. Except this leading lady is wearing no make-up, has mismatched cycling clothes on, is red and everso sweaty.


Undeterred, that’s what this guy obviously goes for. Each to their own.


I read the note and a few things immediately sprang to mind:


  1. He knows my dating profile username by heart.
  2. This is either romantic or creepy (depending on how hot he is.)
  3. How hot is he?


He’d actually sat round the corner from me so I couldn’t see his face so I had no idea what he looked like!





I did what any self-respecting blogger would do, and asked Facebook what my next move should be. The problem was, I needed to act fast! He was obviously expecting some sort of reaction, and there I was, chomping on a banana, waiting for Facebook instructions. (Actually, he probably liked the banana bit.)


As it was, I had to get home for Dexter anyway and there really was no way to avoid this guy so I bit the proverbial dating bullet, and walked over to him.


Me:     Hi

Him:    Hi

Me:      Umm, thanks for the note. I take it you know me?

Him:    Yeah, I messaged you a few times but you didn’t reply.

Me:      Oh. Well I get a lot of messages. I mean, all women get lots of messages, not just me.

Him:    I left the site yesterday, it’s just not for me. Where are you off to now?

Me:      Oh, I have to get back for my son but it was nice chatting.)


I knew straightaway he wasn’t for me. The trouble was, how on earth was I going to extricate myself? I got the impression he wanted to say something else but I didn’t give him the opportunity.


Me:        Well, it was nice talking to you. Thanks again for taking the time to come over and give me the note. I’ll see you around.

Him:      Umm, yeah, OK, thanks, bye.




Oh no … I needed a wee now before I rode back home and the toilet was the other way, so I’d have to do the walk of shame past him again. But at my age, when you need to go, you need to go.


I did the necessaries, then braved walking past him. I don’t know why this was all so difficult, or rather why I felt so awkward, but I did. It was a combination of being taken completely off guard, certainly not looking my best, not fancying him but not wanting to hurt his feelings anyway, and wanting to get out of the situation as painlessly as possible.


I decided to just make a run for it and not look over. (I didn’t actually run, but it was a definite brisk walk.)


But as I walked past him, I could see in my peripheral vision that he was obviously waiting for me to walk past him because as soon as I did, he stood up and hurried over to me, another napkin in hand – this time, with his telephone number on it.


Bloody hell.


Him:      If you’d like to get a coffee sometime, here’s my number.

Me:        Thanks, that’s kind of you.


“That’s kind of you?” Oh FFS Kate, is that really all you could come up with? I just felt so out of my comfort zone (whatever that is – behind a keyboard?) that when actually faced with someone being proactive, for want of a better word, I didn’t know what to say.


On the cycle home, I had time to think about what had just happened and realised a few things:


  1. It must have taken this guy a huge amount of courage to come over, albeit via a crumpled up tissue.
  2. Even though I wasn’t interested, I don’t think I made him feel bad and I really hope I didn’t hurt his feelings.
  3. I still can’t decide if he’s creepy or not. He knew my exact dating profile name like he’d memorized it or something – eek.
  4. I couldn’t have looked less sexier. Seriously. And yet it didn’t seem to matter.


I’m not going to call or text him, I just think it’s a waste of both of our time if I’m honest and I don’t want to lead him on … and OK, it wasn’t quite a love letter, but it was all rather flattering nonetheless. It certainly put a spring in my step!


I’m curious though – would you have done things differently?  Do let me know.






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