Warning: this post may make you feel sad. Or it may make you want to punch me in the head for being a self-indulgent twat. Either way probably best you read some Charlie Brooker or something instead.
I am heartbroken. A saggy, baggy, listless, staring-eyed blubbering blob of rejection. And all because of a man I met ONCE.
When I first embarked on this chapter in my life the main difficulty was getting the dates in the first place – see previous post for details of how to fix this problem. Then I had a run of men falling in love with me while I callously toyed with their hearts. Ok, slight exaggeration but I certainly felt pretty bullet-proof.
And then. And then.
And then a great big, shiny, super-clichéd lightning bolt struck last week when I met a man who felt like the one I’d been waiting for my whole life. My missing jigsaw piece. A man who, after just a few hours in my company, looked deep into my soul and told me things about myself that it’s taken me 30 years – and great vats of wine - to figure out. Even before I met him it was apparent that he was different. Just writing to him made me jettison 4 of the 6 dates I had set up for the forthcoming weeks. I couldn’t imagine the point of meeting with anyone else now I knew there was someone this wonderful in the world. And naturally he was going to think I was wonderful too, right?
WRONG.
Not that he hated me. Or thought I was a dick. Apparently he “totally liked" me but he just “didn’t feel it”. The lightning bolt that knocked me off my feet didn’t even ruffle him. Bless him, he tried desperately to make me feel better about the whole thing but you can’t make yourself fancy someone. I know; I’ve tried. And at least he had the decency to be honest. Still, whenever I catch sight of his profile, or see he's online, I feel sick to my stomach. I am trying hard not to reread his texts. More than once a day anyway.
It probably seems a bit crazy feeling this strongly about someone you barely know. And there is an argument that internet dating is not real life. But I don’t agree. I think it’s real life on hyper drive. The whole rollercoaster experience condensed and repeated ad infinitum. And it's exhausting.
Hurry! Hurry! No time to waste. Hear that sound? Yes it's the hollow sound of my rapidly emptying ovaries weeping.
And you know what? I don't think I even heard them before I jumped on this crazy cyber conveyor belt. But now the pace is frantic. I'm being shunted around Yo Sushi being peered at and occasionally picked up before being rapidly put down again. And from time to time someone will try me and think, yeah, nice, but I'm sure there's something better on here. And I'm doing the same thing. Only what I really want right now is a big plate of comfort food. Nothing fancy; no chopsticks. Something I can eat with a spoon. On the sofa. In front of X Factor.
I'm not sure how many more times I can wonder what it was about me that wasn't apparent from my photos or write up that just didn't appeal. Have I made the brochure too glossy?
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