What’s in a name? Everything.

I met someone at the weekend. We’d matched on Tinder last week, got talking, made plans to meet.

After four days of all day texting, one night mid reply, he calls me. I thought it was an accident but no, there’s something he needs to tell me.

My smile froze on my face and words died on my lips. He’s married. It was the only thing I could imagine. There was no realm of other possibilities, only this.

He’d had a dream about me last night.

Oh.

It was hardly better. I almost didn’t want to ask.

In his dream, we met and he pronounced my name wrong.

And?

I was waiting for the hammer to fall, for him to reveal the sexual fetish or fantasy that would make him just like the 95% of men who like to chat. The men who end up asking for photos, a sexier photo, something naughty. Got anything of your tits?

“So, I thought I should call you and ask how to pronounce your name so I don’t get it wrong when I meet you.”

I am quiet.

I am ridiculous.

I am shamed.

Tom fucked me for the better part of four years. He never once said my name out loud in my presence, otherwise I may have worked out sooner he had been pronouncing it wrong from day one.

I met someone at the weekend. He was kind and intelligent.

But, I don’t think it will go very far. When I came home after Sunday night, after some pretty awkward almost sex, something felt “off”. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it but I think it’s because it was “lack”. Lust, passion, desire – they are all missing for me.

He also talks about his ex – a lot. I suspect there’s either unfinished business or he’s not quite over her. Either way, it was nice to meet someone new. Nice to know I am getting closer to finding the right one.