An Appsolute Disaster

I sit here, cross. Exceedingly cross. Pull up a pew... let's rage.

I hate the apps. Hinge. Tinder. Etc.

I'm lucky enough that I have largely avoided them due to my relationships starting fairly organically (begging to be their girlfriend counts as 'organic', yes?) .

Having a few romantically bleak months; consumed with the move out of London and my heart (organ, not emotion) being fundamentally uncooperative and dodgy, I decided I'd get back 'out there'. I regret everything.

Last night marked date three in two weeks. The first man I met had a surname that really suited my forename - it was destined to be. Better still, both our Dads were dead - so much in common! I arrive, clock him, pray that it's actually the other handsome man sitting alone at the next table. It isn't. He's wearing (bless him), tight black knee-length denim shorts, and it's clear his hair has taken him a while. He was very lovely. No, genuinely. But sadly, shared my affliction of shit mental 'ealth (to be read in a cockney accent). I sent him a message the next day suggesting that we probably both needed someone a bit more 'stable'. I still haven't heard back.

Date two was the next night. I had a 2 hour gap before meeting Tris and Eka for a drink at the pub in my village. Very last minute, this guy decides he'll drive over for a pint. Totally innocently, I had used 'roger that' (EVERYONE KNOWS THAT) and some other military lingo (I am honestly a sponge, I've adopted all of Rupe's Marine nonsense). He sits down...

"So how did you know I was a Royal Marine?"

"I genuinely didn't!"

"Yes, you did"

"How could I have possibly known that?!"

He didn't believe me, which made me look like a crazy stalker. Then, he asked how I knew what a 'wet' was. I said my Stepdad and Stepbrother were in the Corp. He says "Who's your Stepdad?". I replied "Rupert Pulvertaft".

"Ahh... son, JJ?"

"Yes..."

"He's one of my best mates. Does your Mum have curly blonde hair?"

"Yes..."

"She has cooked me a roast. I thought you looked familiar"

And then, IMMEDIATELY: "Just so you know, I draw a complete red line under siblings of friends".

Excellent. I've wanted siblings all my life, and in my first month of having them, they've obstructed my romantic endeavours. Furious. Plus, we're not even blood related, wtf.

But this is all background. I flounced into a cocktail bar last night, and met a very nice man. He had been quite flirty over text, so I was looking forward to meeting him. We drank MANY a cocktail, had an argument about climate change, and when we got hungry we headed to a pub. A man listened to our conversation... and then promptly joined in. Turns out he was an ex Egyptian extremist (v interesting, although I think my date was slightly alarmed) who had been at an over 30's day event at a club (eeeesh). Then, another man offered us some pizza. We said no, but I invited him over as he looked sad. Turns out he was a heartbroken Royal Marine, who had just been palmed off by this chick. We were transported back to freshers, and the Marine initiated a game of 'Never Have I Ever'. Naturally, the first question that came up was... body count. I was paralysed. Refuse to say? Lie? Or the latter... what I actually did... blurt the truth out. It was over double my date's count. I was beyond embarrassed. A floozie strumpet! A promiscuous woman! Oh, the horror!

Whilst inside getting a drink, my date seemed a bit 'off', so I asked if he was ok. He says he was planning on getting to know ME, not random men I picked up in a pub. Eeeesh (round 2). When back at the table, I made our excuses, and we left the other two behind.

After another espresso martini, I mentioned that I was tired. Half expecting an invite to his (I had waxed my legs, after all), which I would inevitably coyly protest, but he'd eventually persaude me... Well, that was the plan. Instead, we went our separate ways. I went in for a hug, he kissed my cheek. I then drew back and he tucked my hair behind my ear, and starting leaning in. I cannot explain why, but I turned around, and ran to my taxi.

RAN.

WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME.

I didn't panic too much, and texted later apologising for being so bloody awkward with goodbyes. Got the reply:

"Probably have to say I don't think this was quite the match for me, best of luck with dating though!

...

Flummoxed. What? Didn't I dazzle you? I was so confused, he had his arm around me as we walked to the taxis? Can any men pls message me and try and explain what happened, as I am baffled.

So, yes. There has to be a better way. The superficiality of online dating is alarming. It also demands so much time and attention in our busy lives. Also, men and women use the apps in different ways. It's impossible to tell if the man who has labelled his relationship goals as 'monogamy' and 'long term relationship, open to short' actually just wants a shag, and is trying to lull his prospective flings into a false sense of security! Cynical, maybe. But based on experience. Nothing is as it seems. I feel like my girlfriends and I are trapped in this paradox; rejecting the apps and the problems they represent, and this sense that we're unlikely to meet a nice guy any other way? It's fundamentally exhausting.

Shall be alone forever. I'll be found, eaten by alsatians alone in my house, at 70 (single people die earlier btw). I'm not being dramatic, I promise.