“I’m Still Swiping And Still Stunnin'”: Dublin Girlo On Being The Last Single Hun

About 6 weeks ago something happened that I wasn’t expecting. Something I knew always would one day but didn’t think it would be so soon. Something I want to happen to me but now that it STILL hasn’t I am freaking the f*ck out… my bestie went Facebook official and I am now the last singleton in our group of Huns.

I was delighted for her, course I was. Months of analysing screenshots and crafting the perfect reply for her had paid off but with every updated relationship status I can’t help but feel my girlos drifting away, especially when you’re the only Hun left without a plus one.

With everyone’s “officialness” gawking at me every time I went online and with every sympathetic head tilt the girls gave me when they had to decline our usual weekend plans to get legless because they were going the flicks instead, I forced myself back on Tinder and POF and decided I was going to give anyone who matched with me and actually mailed me a chance. Bet down or not.

The fear of spending weekend after weekend being shot down by my Huns and left to sit in alone with a €6 bottle of wine and a 3nHun was just too much to bear. So over the last month I went on 5 dates with 5 very different people.

When I thought the next one could not be worse than the last, the male population of Dublin proved me wrong

And when I thought the next one could not be worse than the last, the male population of Dublin proved me wrong. My first date was with a French bloke who moved here a few weeks ago, unbelievable looking and the thoughts of him rolling his tongue all over me the way he does when he pronounces his “R”’s had me only delighted. We met in the Foggy Dew and when I got there I realised there was a reason he was all smouldering and never smiling in his photos, and that he had used google translate for the chats. There was not a tooth in his French head and not a word of English to come out of his mouth. I had one vodka and left.

Number two was an accountant. He seemed a bit straight-laced, but was mature and sensible, two things I am not. Off to the Mercantile we went, I bought him a pint as an apology for being late and myself vodka to calm the nerves. As the night went on we started talking about mad shit. He ended up telling me he was on antibiotics for chlamydia and then said “you’ll need them after tonight too”. He couldn’t understand why I was putting my coat on when he finished that sentence.

Number three I thought was a sure thing, a blonde hair blue eyed cracker who I couldn’t believe was on a date with me. He was all over me, and feeling like a confident bitch who couldn’t wait to see him with no clothes on I asked him did he want to head back to mine. He told me he’d be back in a sec and as I sat there planning what I was gonna do to him I saw him walk out the door and get into a taxi. Alone.

By number four I convinced myself alcohol was the problem (it was hardly me) and planned a day date that would lead to alcohol later with someone I knew once upon a time and was delighted to be back in touch with. I bought a new dress from Topshop for the occasion and was giddy all day long. And then he stood me up. Waiting there for half an hour freezing cold without a text and a WhatsApp full of blue ticks. Prick.

Number five told me after a few minutes he’s never ever eaten a Big Mac in his life and I just knew there and then there was no future for us but I let him take me back to mine anyway. After the four other disasters I think it was well deserved, don’t you Hun?

I’m still swiping, and still stunnin’ and after each disaster that €6 wine and 3nHun is starting to sound better and better. Stay stunnin’.

This article first appeared in STELLAR’s June issue. Our September issue is on shelves now!