The Dating Diaries: Oh God, I’ve Been Catfished
He started walking over to me and all I could think was; where on earth is the nearest emergency exit?!
After last week’s successful date I have diagnosed myself with the dating bug. It released a rush of adrenaline in me that I hadn’t experienced in such a long time, and although Damien never followed up on our planned second date (not that I care…) the adrenaline was still pumping through my veins so, after much persuasion from my gal pals, I turned to Tinder.
After matching with about 50 guys I soon filtered it down to ten by unmatching with all the men who wrote to me with lines like “hey, you out tonight?” (booty call central) and ‘You wanna ride?’ (straight and to the point).
I spoke to the remaining guys about a range of stuff like careers, our hopes for the future and our likes and dislikes, but ultimately there was only one guy who I felt I could openly chat to, and that was Simon.
We seemed to have so much in common and, judging by his profile pic he was an absolute ride! After three days of texting he asked me to meet him in The Market Bar for a drink that night and without hesitation, I agreed.
The pictures from his profile must have been from ten years ago.
I skipped along to The Market Bar fantasising about my soon-to-be boyfriend. When I arrived I peered around looking for him, but I couldn’t see him anywhere. Wait. Why is that overweight man smiling over at me? Actually he looks very familiar, I thought. Then I realised, oh god, it was Simon.
The pictures from his profile must have been from ten years ago. He was at least 30 pounds heavier and by my estimations was probably in his late 40s. He came over to introduce himself to me and I tried to pick my jaw off the floor as he did.
“I presumed you were a gin and tonic kind of gal,” he said as he slid me over a glass. I thought we would just make the usual small talk and I would come down with some sort of illness, make my excuses and leave but apparently life isn’t that kind.
He was clearly already inebriated and proceeded to continue the deep meaningful conversations we were having on Tinder. These conversations did not translate well into real life.
I couldn’t even force a sympathetic response as I was too distracted by the multiplying drops of sweat on his forehead.
He came across as needy and more-than-a-tad desperate and I couldn’t even force a sympathetic response as I was too distracted by the multiplying drops of sweat on his forehead. The weird thing was he didn’t even sense my uneasiness as he was too caught up in telling me all his problems.
After he started chatting to the bar man while ordering his fifth drink I spotted my chance for an escape. I told him I had a banging headache so I needed to head home but I assured him I’d had a lovely time.
As if it couldn’t get any worse he then begged me not to go, saying he thought he was falling in love with me (the girl who only used the words “yes” and “no” throughout the date).
I know this may sound cruel but I had to just leave, so I turned on my heels and legged it out of there.
I think he may have been the antibiotic I needed for my dating bug.
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