I'm Miss M. Here are some of my Online Dating tips, backed up by my sometimes hilarious, and often disconcerting stories…
DING DING DING! After a rocky start with Online dating, I’d finally made it to a third date. And you know what that means…
Well, actually there was some confusion in my mind.
According to the quality chick mags I grew up reading, the third date traditionally meant you’d most likely be getting jiggy that night. Yes, I’m a grown woman and still find it hard to say “have sex” or “make love” (ew) in a public forum.
Anyhoo, with Online dating the dude is essentially still a stranger by the third date. So I was thinking to get our freak on would be unlikely. (I wonder how many euphemistic song lyrics I can get into this post?!) Perhaps in a world where Tinder has people shagging before they’ve said, “Hello” my thinking could seem outdated. But who really cares.
Gone are the days we take advice from magazines. It’s time to set our own timelines or just plain old go-with-the-flow and let the Universe run its course. I decided I’d go with the latter option and see what happened. But of course that lasted all of zero seconds and my mind started racing with all of the romantic possibilities.
You see, it had been a while since I’d actually liked someone. And the idea that he liked me back was pretty exciting.
So when he called to suggest we go out for a drink – on the weekend – my heart was aflutter. Without a dinner table, time restrictions, or sober inhibitions holding us back I was certain our romance would step up a notch. We might not put our thing down, flip it and reverse it (okay, I’ll stop now) but we’d pash for sure. Our first kiss! Swoon!
But then what happened totally hit me for six.
The weekend was fast approaching, and Mr Maybe called again to postpone our date. He’d been asked to go to Sydney for work at the last minute. There was a promotion at stake, so he couldn’t say no.
I understood and happily suggested the following weekend. But he was non-commital and said he’d let me know. In my heart of hearts I knew something had changed, but couldn’t figure out what it was. But as I’d learnt through my experience with Mr Too Cool you can’t force things. If it’s right, it’ll happen. If not, that means it’s wrong.
So opting for the worst case scenario, I decided Mr Maybe had met someone else and never wanted to see me again. This thought kind of made me sad. But it wasn’t long before I was ready to move on and find someone else to swoon over. Fickle, yes. But I guess you have to be when everyone else is too.
A week went by, and there was still no word from Mr Maybe. So he became Mr No.
But then, just because the Universe likes to screw with you sometimes, he called. And he wanted to finally go for that drink. By this stage I’d switched to self-protection mode, and was tempted to decline and leave it at that.
However the optimist within forced me to say yes.
I got to the date feeling reasonably calm… Probably because I hadn’t spent nights fantasising about what could happen this time around. So my expectations were neutral to low.
I found him tucked away by the bar, and worked to suppress the butterflies that started moshing in my belly. As much as I didn’t want to feel excited, I was. I couldn’t help it.
He was there. With that smile. And all the chat.
It wasn’t long before it felt like nothing had changed at all. We were sparking, and happy. Still, just because I needed to know where I stood, I tried to subtly suss out whether he’d met the love of his life in Sydney. But of course I suck at subtle, so he saw right through me and assured me Sydney was uneventful and all about work.
Phew! So we kept talking, and he started going on about the ocean of possibilities his bosses were offering him. It all sounded massively impressive and my attraction levels were rising at an exponential rate. Got to love a man with ambition.
So he went on. And on. And on. And I was like…
But no. He didn’t.
More talk? Fine. Maybe I’ll get us another drink?
But no, he drove so he had to stop drinking. He was happy for me to keep going, but I was NOT willing to let him see drunk me if he was going to stay sober. So I suggested we call it a night.
Like the lovely man he was, he offered me a lift home and I accepted. Sure we didn’t know each other well enough to shoop baby, but I trusted my instincts when they told me he wasn’t a serial killer.
We got to my house, and sat in his car chatting for a while. There were a few times when I felt he might lean in for a snog, but once again, it didn’t happen. So I went upstairs and that was that. Third date over.
I felt strange. It’s not like anything was wrong, but it definitely wasn’t right either.
I know it probably sounds like I was reading too much into it. But I wasn’t.
Because the next morning he called to say there was something he wanted to tell me last night. But he didn’t know how. I suggested using words would be a good start. So he did. But they were words so far beyond anything I could’ve expected…
“I really like you. And want to keep dating you. BUT. I’ve been offered a job in Germany. And I’m taking it.”