I scrutinized his photo- no hair but nice right bicep (or was that ominous?) and it looked like there was a chance words instead of dribble might come out when he opened his mouth.
Ach, this was like shopping when you needed a killer dress for a party and buying one you’ve looked at, tried on and rejected before, because it’s better than going home empty-handed, right?
But no, I separated finger from keyboard – my friend was right- I should be raising my standards when internet dating, not lowering them.
Vikram from Devon was looking for a ‘leady’ – Kim Jong-Un in stilettos anyone?
And I’d lost count of the number of men looking for a nice ‘women’.
‘What makes me unique is my style’, wrote Ben, from London, in his four-line profile.
Yes, and what doesn’t is your depressing as hell inability to say anything remotely interesting!
Steve was a ‘directer’ – well, he could be a dyslexic director, one that also posed in front of his own top of the range black Jaguar car, with a car showroom lurking in the background.
He obviously hadn’t, or couldn’t, read the dealbreaker I’d recently added to my profile: ‘I like men who make some attempt to spell basic words correctly and to punctuate their sentences. If you don’t know the difference between ‘there’ and ‘their’, ‘to’ and ‘too’, ‘ your’ and ‘you’re’ and don’t use full stops, please direct your stream of consciousness at someone else!
Harsh? Maybe, but what’s the point of hiding what I can’t stand?
I’m sick of these inane conversations that go on forever with not even a mention of a meeting, not that I’d want to meet the vast majority of them.
How is it that in the UK we think we’re so equal, so emancipated, as women, when we persist in giving all these losers-for-life a chance?
In Saudi Arabia, which is, safe to say, an unemancipated country, if a man starts to flirt with you and doesn’t propose within three months, he’s toast!
And women there don’t have to sleep with men on the second date to keep their attention either (although the very real fear of having your head lopped off could be a more likely reason that doesn’t go on).
But seriously, whose strategy is better here?
Talk to men at the gym (or was that the GUM – the clinic?)! That’s what all the advice said. Hands up everyone who met their man there? Thought not.
Another source of frustration for the more sophisticated (ie, older) daters among us is the proliferation of twenty something bloggers bemoaning the fact that only three dates out of four were any good as date number four only took them to their second favourite wine bar…
Dating in your thirties is the decade dating doomed!
It’s OK in your forties as people are getting divorced then.
In your thirties everyone has young kids, which makes even the unhappiest of couples stick it out, at least for a while.
And then there’s you, in your make-up like a hussy while your coupled-up friends deal with real problems, like nappy rash and locating muslin squares for babies to puke on.
Time to check my box, where I find a guy with a leer rubbing his chin: “Pleased to watch your profile, you are simply nice!”
He then goes on to say he’s ‘worse than millions but better than billions’….
Is that really what it’s come to? I think not. Viva Bridget Jones!
The Dating Ambassador 