GINGER CHEST HAIR

The world’s gone topsy turvy all of a sudden. This week I have moved into a shed, faced my ultimate fear and seen my former stalker rise up into the Soulmates ‘popular’ charts. What on earth is going on?

The shed has absolutely nothing to do with dating (and given it’s at the bottom of someone’s garden and has no curtains I really think it should stay that way) but I just thought I’d mention it. The former stalker I can only put down to a major glitch in the Soulmates website revamp, and the facing of the ultimate fear came about as a result of this . . .

Last Saturday. 2nd date with a man I’d met the weekend before with a stomping hangover and only 3 hours sleep. My judgement was a little impaired. I was due to meet him at a pub but instead he was waiting for me at the bus stop. And he was wearing jeans and a blazer with a white scoop neck t-shirt underneath exposing a vast swathe of ginger chest hair. Lunch (thai curry) arrived and he picked up his napkin and tucked it in to the top of said t-shirt. My face must have been a picture because he rapidly untucked it and put it on his lap. So far, so definitely don’t fancy him but he knew I'd come all the way from the other side of London and had to go to a party nearby at 8pm (we met at 2) so I couldn't see how to escape. So, in an attempt to deflect attention from myself somehow I ended up inviting a long-suffering friend to join us. Obviously this was his cue to quietly slip away but then my friend’s boyfriend rocked up to join the party and suggested we all go out for dinner. The next thing you know he’d cancelled his evening plans and we were off on some kind of crazy double date!

Now, bear in mind that this marathon date lasted for 8 whole hours. 8 hours made bearable by lakes of highly alcoholic Weston’s cider. There was, therefore, and I’m ashamed to say it but none of you will be surprised to hear, an inevitable amount of passion kissing. So, in summary, 8 hours, met my friends, lots of snogging. I had totally given him the wrong impression.

He texted me the next day. I brushed it off.

He texted again.

And again the following day saying, and I quote: "What's your surname; I want to facebook stalk you?"

And so unless I was to let my cowardice dictate my choice of future husband my fear of fears had to be faced. It was my mission, and I had to accept it, to write down in cold, hard words: I do not fancy you.

The result? He took it exceptionally well. Why have I been being such a baby about this? So that’s it – my days as a procrastinator par excellence are behind me, and anyway I spent hours crafting that text so it would be a shame not to use it again.