Getting back on the relationship bandwagon is tough after a heavy breakup but eventually, the time comes when you’ve gotta upload some filtered to fuck selfies and start swiping again.
My second ever Tinder date (and the first Tinder date I’d had in two and a half years) was with someone who, to coin Love Island aka my Bible’s terminology, was “100% my type on paper”. Sort of, maybe more like 35%. He wasn’t that good looking but hey, it’s always better to be the better looking one in a relationship – not to put tags on myself or anything and he was 6″2. He was a pilot, yeah a pilot and immediately I envisioned myself flying first class across the globe like some sort of air travel personnel WAG. Also, I absolutely ADORE Pearl Harbour so my heart melted at the idea of finding my own unattractive version of Rafe or Danny (impossible to choose one over the other, no wonder Evelyn was in such a mare). He was Scottish too, which seemed really exotic to someone who dated people who lived within a ten mile radius.
Anyway, our date day arrived and I was shitting myself, not literally but more in a ‘fucking hell what am I doing I don’t even like him what if he’s a murderer or a catfish or what if there’s nothing to talk about’ kind of way. But despite my sheer dread, when he picked me up he was nice, dressed smart with nice hair, the accent was nice and he wasn’t even as bad looking as his photo’s made him out to be however, he definitely was not as tall as he had made out. The date was nice, aside from the fact he talked constantly about himself and he dropped me off at a very nice reasonable time. All very nice.
There was no immediate spark where I thought “oh my god this guy is amazing” but I put that down to the fact I was so nervous. However, that gut feeling didn’t leave and grew instead with the daily texts I received off him. However, I agreed to another date where unfortunately, the niceness ended and I was confronted with some nonnegotiables. He continued his spiel about himself which by the end of date two felt like he was expecting me to write a dissertation on his life (plus, I also like to talk about myself a lot – it was never going to work). He wasn’t actually a pilot either, he was a secondary (still great but it tarnished my Pearl Harbour fantasy) for EASYJET, which crushed any idea I had of a glamorous jet-setting lifestyle.
Most crucially, he was an appalling kisser. My friends later told me you can “teach people blah blah blah” WRONG. It was so horrendous it wasn’t even worth putting in the manual labor to teach him. PLUS he was a fair bit older than me and thought he was Don Juan so god knows how he would have handled critique (lord have mercy on the poor girls who went before me).
This was the deal breaker for me. The clingy texting, the ego-maniac attitude, the lying about the height, the way he licked my whole jaw when kissing which physically repulsed me… I couldn’t face a third date so I ghosted him. Not necessarily my fault, I’d told him I needed to focus on my studies (shitty excuse) however, he still wouldn’t stop texting so in the end the block button was utilized. Thank god that was over.