Oh no, there’s an emergency

I called in an emergency on Saturday night. I know, I know, it’s not very nice but it seems like such a less awkward way to get out of a date you don’t want to be on. And to be fair, I gave him a good 35 minutes to wow me but the only surprise I got was the length of his hair and the wrinkles on his face.

I knew he was older at 46, but that seems to be the type I go for these days. Or at least, that’s the age group I’m targeting. After the ups and downs of last year, I made the unconscious decision that I was done with younger men. Older men come with no guarantees of course but they tend to have their shit slightly more together and are moderately less likely to fuck you around. A generalisation I can already find an exception for with Married who does not have his house in order and was definitely always going to fuck me around. But on the whole, older men are *usually* more mature.

So I’m finding with Tortoise at least but still, we’re not exclusive and I am seriously loathe to count any chickens before it’s Facebook official so the dating continues. I had already cancelled on this guy once so I felt obliged when he contacted me asking to reschedule. I agreed to meet that evening and made all the necessary preparations to give it a go – I shaved my legs, did my make-up, curled my hair and wore a dress that put my boobs more in your face than usual.

When I walked into the bar, my gaze passed straight over him, despite him having told me what colour shirt he was wearing. This man looked at least 10 years older than the photos on his Tinder profile, his hair was fair longer, long enough to curl up at the nape of his neck and he looked like a cross between David Tennant and Tom Hiddleston as Loki with the accent to match but not in a sexy way. Sharp pointed nose and wrinkles diverging from each eye like highway exits.

Immediately I knew I was not attracted to him. I struggled to see the resemblance to his profile photos at all. But looks aren’t everything right? He’s an architect, mature, well-travelled, I assumed intelligent and his text game was spell-checked and punctuated.

And over the next 35 minutes I learnt everything there was to know about David/Tom because he did not stop talking. I didn’t think it was in a nervy way either like some people get when they’re anxious. It was just all him. The only question he asked me before my phone thrillingly began to ring was where I lived and that information was in my Tinder profile.

I had arranged the emergency almost as a joke with a friend on the drive in. I didn’t really expect to utilise it, although I have called one in twice before. I let it ring out the first time, making a show of looking at my phone and not answering it. But when it rang a second time (something I hadn’t actually arranged), I leapt at the chance to escape.

I hate lying to people, I really do. I know many people will say I didn’t really give him a chance or that I should have just thanked him and told him I wasn’t interested but I find that surprisingly difficult unless the man has been an actual arsehole to me. Far easier to lie and then avoid rescheduling than tell someone they remind you of an actor who played Dr Who but less hot.

As it turns out, I met my friend that had called me and we ended up at his local pub for a couple of drinks and dinner. And it was stupidly pleasant to be around someone who knew me, who I could relax with, who asked about my life and my work and I could ask about his and there was none of the stupid small talk that comes with first dates. We laughed and joked and then I dropped him home and I went home alone, to my big empty bed with clean sheets and I lay diagonally across them and congratulated myself on being OK.

Because I am. I am OK with going to bed alone when the alternative is a married man who hasn’t pronounced your name right in his head for two years. Or a former boyfriend who contacts you out of the blue asking to have drinks and fuck. Or the man who doesn’t know what he wants but thinks it’s OK to contact you every few weeks just to torment you.

Yeah, I’m really good without that thanks.

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