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. I think we might have a winner!
I know, I know. I can’t get too excited… This Online Dating thing is weird, annoying and unpredictable. It’s been scarier than my worst fears, has smashed my expectations so far into the ground they’re now playing with worms, and has brought extremely strange men into my life (and thankfully kicked them out again).
So it’s been a little bit unsuccessful. Okay, a lot unsuccessful.
But hey, I’m still in it… not because I’m a writer who needs stories. Or a crazy person who’s crazy. It’s because somewhere deep down in my heart, underneath all that disappointment, I still believe this could be a successful avenue to meeting someone.
And so, the search continued…
And while I scrolled through profiles, I engaged in boring text communication with Mr Oops. And then BANG an email request came up from a seemingly witty, charming, handsome guy…
Can it really be?! ! I reread his profile looking for signs of bullshit. But I found nothing. The emails started flowing soon after that. I tried to be myself, and not over-think every sentence in an attempt to impress this virtual stranger. But communicating with two men got too much for me. I got confused between conversations, repeated myself, sounded like a dick. This had to stop.
A lot of people say it’s wise to juggle numerous men while Online Dating. Firstly to keep our options open. And secondly because everyone else is doing it and we don’t want to be the fools that over-invest and become stalky when the object of our affections is dating eleven other people.
Still, juggling wasn’t working for me. And I couldn’t help but wonder (holy shit, do I think I’m Carrie Bradshaw?!) why would I juggle two balls when one is clearly inferior. I should be putting all my energy into the exciting ball, not the one I already know I have no future with. Balls. Hehe.
So I took the plunge and told Mister Oops I couldn’t stay in touch any longer. And to confirm my doubts about how deep our love ran, he responded with:
Sweet. No sweat.
I was a tad disappointed… Partly because I thought I was worth more than three words. And partly because my heart did a little flutter when he managed to spell “sweet” and “sweat” correctly. Yep, that is far more impressive than it should be. Times are tough.
Anyhoo, I decided to get the f*&K over myself. I knew Mr Oops wasn’t my guy. I ended it properly. He responded casually. No one got ouchies hearts. So it was the perfect outcome – one I wouldn’t ruin for my egotistical desire to be loved by everyone.
Also, it didn’t hurt that communication with Mr Suave was intensifying beyond my wildest dreams. Would you believe that he actually asked for my number, and, get this… wanted to call me!
People still know how to use the call function on their phones?! They’re not just a device to text and take selfies on?! OMG I was in love. Not really. But I was feeling some serious R.E.S.P.E.C.T for the dude.
And then… ring, ring. I took a deep breath and thought:
Sound hot. Make sure you sound hot.
The conversation was so much easier than I’d expected. We cut through the small talk and went straight to stories about the hilarious stuff life throws at us. He told me about the crazy people he works with, his hopes for a promotion, the big night he had on the weekend. The way he spoke, I could picture how he fits into his world. It was nice.
Our chats continued through the week, and then he asked me out on a date. I was so pumped. And I didn’t feel any of those scary anticipation vomit feelings. It was like the first date nerves had already been dealt with. We knew we were compatible so all we had to do was look forward to hanging out. On the morning of our date I was woken up by a cute text:
It’s date day!
Included was a smiley face. And I totes smiled back. Then another text:
Wear something nice.
Winky face. Yuck! Who the hell does he think he is?! All my clothes are nice. He can’t tell me what to wear!
But then I forced myself to swallow my inner-cynic. Don’t be a bitch. He’s just trying to be cute. And probably taking you somewhere lovely…
And he did.
To a beautiful degustation lunch along the water. It was perfect. So was the Audi he picked me up in. (Don’t wuz, this post is not sponsored by Audi. I bloody wish it was though.) Now, I’m not usually one to give a shit about a dude’s car. The only reason I remember it was an Audi is because he told me the proud story of how he’d recently bought it. It was a little bit icky actually – the way he spoke about money. But once again, I took off my judgemental hat and went with it. There’s nothing wrong with being proud of our achievements. Don’t be a bitch.
I guess we all have weird car quirks anyway. I’m sure some guys find it strange when I introduce them to my car by his first name. Winston. His name is Winston. And no, he’s not a girl. He’s a boy. An extremely camp boy with a big bootie. And I love him.
Back to the date. It was a Sunday. And I was only mildly hungover. Miraculous! But to be safe, I didn’t wear heels… I don’t think Mr Suave would’ve had the stomach for my bleeding kneecaps. He looked slick. And not in a Ew, too much mirror time way. It was like he woke up hot. And then put on some hot trendy clothes. Also, he was tall. As we walked side by side, I regretted not wearing my heels. And I probably should’ve dressed up a little bit more. Damn, my defiance!
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining about his attractiveness. It’s just that it made me feel like the stumpy, casual, semi-hungover half. Like I’d be the one the waiter looks at and thinks, How did she pull that?!
Shooosh dodgy self esteem. Just enjoy the date with the pretty tall man.
And I did. Because despite my anxious inner monologue, we talked like we did on the phone. The sight of his smile matched the sound of his chuckle. And I’m sure my wide grin matched my cackle. We had a really good time. And not like the other semi-good dates I’d been on… Where if I squinted enough to blur reality I might’ve convinced myself that I could maybe be friends with the guy one day. Maybe. Nope. The connection between Mr Suave and I was definitely romantic. Romantic, amplified by the fact it already kind of felt like we were friends.
So we ate the pretty food. And drank the pretty Vodka cocktails. I spilt a little bit on my top. Got flustered and retold the story of how Mr Sex Pest spilled water on me and said the magical words:
At least I can say I got you wet on the first date.
Argh. That still makes me squirm. Mr Suave laughed. And then checked if I was okay with a little hand squeeze.
It was time to get back to the shiny Audi so Mr Suave could drive me home. On a side note – I wouldn’t normally give an Internet dude my address on a first date. But once again, I felt like I could judge his character through our phone conversations. I had inkling he could possibly turn out to be arrogant. Like, a bit of a tool on a bad day. But he wasn’t a stalker. Bonus.
We got to my house and did that thing where you want to keep hanging out, but it’s too soon to invite him upstairs. (This isn’t Tinder!) So we sat in the car for a bit more flirty banter. And when it was time say goodbye, I freaked out about whether I should kiss him on the cheek, or the lips. But the wonderfulness of the date, and the effort he’d gone to gave me a surge of confidence and I went for a looooong peck on the lips.
It sounds minor. But I was proud of myself.
After that we shared a few stray texts. Nothing too detailed. I was hopeful he’d ask me out on another date, but then I thought f*&k it.
You want to see him again. Just ask him.
And I did.
So how do you think that went down?