Well, as our educated friend Mr L. Carol would say, ‘Begin at the beginning and go on until you come to the end: then stop. He would probably gawp at the subject I’m struggling to start writing about, but still, his advice holds.
The beginning will be in the searching I suppose…
Personally, I’ve got to the point where any attractive, quirky looking man with a half decent beard will make me check the arrangement of my clothes, wherever I am. I could be in my car, perving on the unsuspecting cyclist going the opposite way and considering a cheeky swerve in his direction. HOW COULD THAT POSSIBLY WORK?! He pitches into the hedge head first and the resulting haze of amnesia makes him forget his perfect wife and children so you can swoop in and save him?! No killing cyclists woman. That won’t help anyone. So are the deranged and desperate thoughts of a single woman in her late 20’s. At least so are mine.
Ok. So you aren’t allowed to stage road accidents. Then how the hell do we meet people?
No Mum, just because I like hiking doesn’t mean I could meet a guy on a mountain. When I get to the summit I’m normally a sticky mess with an afro and the remnants of a cheese cracker stuffed in my mouth. If probability did happen to favour me and the man of my dreams happened to trot up to the Cairn within the same 5-10 minutes I would sensibly stay on a blisteringly cold summit, he’d likely be one in a pack of intimidating friends. I don’t know what other hikers find, but instead of being invited for coffee at sea level, I get a snide comment about the one missing element of gear I couldn’t afford that winter. (I probably didn’t want ANOTHER something in purple or pink, the cursed colours of all women’s outdoor clothing).
I’ll skip past all the fanatical ways I’d love to meet someone, which range from being asked to dance by a man in a Kilt to catching someone’s eye in my favourite writing den. We romantics can but dream. Alas the only realistic way seems to be online. When I was in my late teens I couldn’t go on the internet without my parents shouting about the loud NEEEEEEEEEEBEEPBOPBOOOOOOOP interrupting their phone call with Grandma. 10 years later and I can talk to any man online within a 10 mile radius (chosen cos I can’t be arsed to travel for love) as long as he swipes right too.
I am not ashamed to admit that Tinder, and more recently Bumble, are my go to’s for meeting a future spouse. Dating apps, I and my comrades in singledom have found, have the power to both build and lay your confidence to ruin. Similar to a pair of ambitious heels suddenly throwing you on your arse on a night out, you go from feeling like the most desired woman in the room to peeling your new outfit off the gin infused floorboards. You can ‘match’ with the man of your dreams, only to find he ghosts you after finding out your lack of in-depth knowledge about Scrubs. Yet still we must persist.
Here’s what could be considered either the low or high point of my dating career. You decide. I have recently discovered my dear relationship swaddled friends see me as an online dating app consultant. At our last ‘girls night’ (a necessity amongst midwives and nurses to allow us to talk birth and A&E without fear of panic attacks from the weak stomached species in our group), I was asked to make another her first profile. However depressing it was to have my chronically single status officially recognised, it led to a hell of a conversation. One of my best friends and partner in hating devious men, illustrated my advice with examples from the apps themselves. Our decided upon list of dating-app-picture-don’ts:
Pics with all your mates – it’s tinder not Where’s Wally (Best buddy et al. 2018).
Half naked selfies – less is more, and my Mum might be looking over my shoulder. Also, vain much?
Pics with a group of women– this doesn’t make you look desirable, it makes us wonder how many of them you’ve dated, and if none, why?
So you’ve matched and managed to get past the first few days of awkward conversation, pulling at the hints in their profile to tempt them for a drink. In all honesty I did a time-effort-money calculation and found that asking them out sooner rather than later was more efficient. It also led to less disappointment and enough anecdotes I could likely write my own soap opera within a year. Life is short. Get a good feeling? Go for a pint. Drink sensibly.
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An interlude of anecdotes so you know you’re not alone/ so you are prepared…Collected from fellow despairing friends:
‘I once went on a first date to Pizza Hut, and then the guy insisted that I had to eat all my crusts before I could order my dessert.’
‘One guy told me I couldn’t go away with my male friend that weekend because he ‘didn’t know how he felt about it’….We’d known each other 3 hours.
‘I went on a date with an older man…. who brought his Mum’
‘I was telling a first date about the role of a midwife and one of the points was that I help women breastfeeding. The guy asked ‘What so you feed the babies from your own boobs?’…. You think I’ve got milk on tap right now?!’
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First date tips from me – follow or ignore at your whim.
- Have a cheeky glass of something before you leave, liquid courage cannot be underestimated and I think it makes me more entertaining…I might well be wrong. I think I’m wrong.
- Prepare for worse case scenarios by coming up with a reason you have to be up early in the morning or having the bus timetable link ready on your phone.
- Wear your go-to ‘old faithful’ outfit that makes you feel comfortable and more importantly like YOU. Don’t go dressing up like the girl you think they’d be attracted to. If they don’t like you for your Doc Martins or patchouli perfume then they don’t deserve you!
- Skip the small talk as soon as you are comfortable! A tough one I know! If they are a teacher, they don’t care that you know a teacher, let’s be honest. It doesn’t matter how you got to the date (unless relevant to point 2).
- Don’t go to a first-date-forest-party in the woods in the middle of Cumbria without telling your friends where you are. In fact, just don’t… (I call this the kamikaze period of my dating life).
- Not first date advice but still, it needs to be said: Don’t get so obsessed with swiping right and left that you don’t look up and see the potential right in front of you. Old school meeting in the pub apparently happens to one couple per year.
You are probably wondering why the hell you should listen to me. If you find that doing the opposite is more productive, please let me know! Seriously, after 5 years of online dating and no luck, I hit rock bottom when my parents offered to pay for the sites I’m too miserable to fork out for… ‘If that’s the issue we want to help!’
Oh help.
Aye, perhaps scrap all aforementioned advice. I’m pathetic. Until I have wine… Then I remember all I need are my friends and a cardboard box fort. I digress.
Date 2? Let me know how that goes. There are only so many times a person can ask themselves what they could possibly have done differently to get that second date. Personally I’ve tried tactics ranging from 1) not mentioning my allotment until they’re too drunk to possibly remember to 10) bringing a bag of potatoes as a first date gift. I’ve worn dungarees, skirts, baggy jumpers, push-up bras and gone make-up less but I’ll be dammed if they actually notice. In conclusion, my comrades and I have decided we would like a feedback form please.
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Thank-you for visiting and buggering off without notice, now please complete this questionnaire. All constructive advice welcome.
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Well Mr Carol, is the end when you surrender to spinsterhood with your cat? When you die alone? Sorry let me try optimism…Is the end when you are snuggled in your PJ’s with your kids, hoping the blanket fort doesn’t collapse around you? Personally the end of the tumultuous, lonely, pain fest will be when I feel 99% confident that my partner is walking next to me, and at the same pace. Perhaps when that metaphor doesn’t end with me tripping and falling on my face as they skip off with glee.
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PostScript: The ironic thing about this blog post is that I started writing it whilst single, miserable and bitterly alone (can you tell!??). Since, I have managed to Bumble into a delightful volcanologist type chap so, assuming he’s not gonna end it after I post this, let us be proof that the minefield of online dating OCCASIONALLY works. PSS. We are now engaged. Proof!
Being Ivy 