It’s been a few weeks since I last wrote about my love life, or lack thereof, but with Valentine’s Day approaching or, as I like to call it, ‘Tuesday’, I thought I’d give you all an update.
Suffice to say, things have gone from bad to worse … and just when you thought it couldn’t get much worse than being called a ‘thick c*nt’ or ‘slappa’. After that particular influx of abuse, I hid my dating profile for a week. It had got to the stage where whenever I checked my dating messages, my stomach would churn before I opened them, just in case it was more aggro. But, as is the way of a romantic such as myself, an optimistic one at that, I thought I’d sign back in on Sunday to see if things had changed.
Now I don’t know what I was expecting. A normal message from a normal bloke? HAHAHAHA! Right. That didn’t happen. What did happen instead, was this. These were literally the first two messages I received after being offline for a week:
Again, apologies if you’re reading this Dad!
These are men in their 40’s. Men that should know better and quite frankly, after all this time, I should know better. Just in the last week I’ve had 3 propositions from openly married men (one guy even randomly approached me via Facebook), I’ve been asked about my bra size twice, comments about my body (and what they specifically like about it) nine times and it got to the point where I took all photos down apart from one face one. And then I just hid the profile yet again because I’m so tired of dealing with absolute bellends. I don’t know if I’ll be back this time.
Anyway, as I walked along Whitstable’s seafront on Sunday afternoon with my best friend, we had our obligatory “WHERE ARE ALL THE DECENT MEN WAHH WAHH WAHH’ chat and instead of just moaning about it, we did something about it … something we’ve never done before. Well she did it, once, years ago, and didn’t really like it.
I’m talking about speed dating of course! Speed dating is a bit old-fashioned I know, but Christ, it can’t be any worse than the absolute dross I’m dealing with online. I always figured that men who went speed dating weren’t really going to be my type which, I know, is very immature and judgemental of me, so we found our nearest event and signed up.
It’s a 45-minute drive away, so I won’t be able to have any Dutch courage beforehand, but it is going to make some brilliant blog fodder if nothing else! The things I do for you guys …
I have no idea what to expect and to be honest, I’m a little nervous. Not so much about the 3-minute ‘dates’, but the thought that potentially, even if I don’t like any of them, no-one will want to see me again. I know it doesn’t really mean anything, but my self-confidence when it comes to men, isn’t particularly great at the moment (thanks POF!) and I’m not sure I can take another knockback.
But you’ve got to be in it to win it … although I’m not quite sure what ‘it’ is, and D-day is next Wednesday. So think of me at 8pm, in a random Canterbury bar, getting very sweaty with nerves. Who knows? I could meet the man of my dreams or, more likely, just have a really funny evening with my best friend and bring home lots of stories to tell you all.