Swipe. Swipe. Swipe.
I’ve mentioned this before but here I am again. I HATE dating. Not just online. The whole process of small talk while attempting to be romantic and wondering if you’re entertaining a murderer or the future love of your life. My anxiety was not designed for the dating world. I can’t go on nights out and just meet people and bring them home. I’m on apps–a slight relief from actual social engagement–but I also live in Ireland. So between date-rape looking lads and 57-year-old farmers adding me to their “favourites” (who the fuck came up with that), I only occasionally come across a guy I’m actually interested in. Usually he’s the friend in the profile picture of the guy I now have to swipe left on…
Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m looking for too much. Taller than me (and don’t give me any bullshit about it. I’m 5’3″, I’m not exactly exclusively scouting basketball players), treats me with respect, allows me to set the tone about intimacy on the first date, and can A. Respond back to a text message B. Respond to every question posed in the text message C. Carry a conversation about something besides his own interest. D. All of the above.
Recently I had a date. He came all the way from Cork to see me. He was prompt (a huge plus) and showed an interest in my Masters Dissertation. When we met, however, it was made abundantly clear that his online photo was a much more flattering angle than in person and some details were added that may or may not have been true (5’7″ my ass). I didn’t mind at first. Fine, a little different than advertised, but I can overlook a lot for a timely gentleman who shows an interest, which he seemed to be. A little over 30 minutes went by before I realised why he was single. Argumentative, rigid, and bossy are ways I would describe my date if there was a feedback section. I have put up with some jerks in my day. I have had my heart broken and dealt with liars, manipulators, and assholes. This guy was just a dick. I ordered a cab, did not invite him up, and happily deleted his number immediately upon crossing my threshold.
Later that night I called up a fuckboy. Not proud of it, but I’m young and selfish and enjoying myself, so I’m not exactly ashamed either. It doesn’t take much to please most. I don’t quite think I’m looking for love right now. I’d be happy to have it if it comes along, but I’m at the stage in my life where consistency is really the sexiest thing to me. Call me when you say you will. Be who you say you are. Be about me or leave me alone. No bullshit. Consistency.
Some day my prince will come, right? Someday the friend will actually be the guy, we’ll swipe right, and I guess happily ever after shit will happen. Til then, I suppose it’s Netflix, cuddly blankets, and my vibrator. Consistency.