It’s not you, it’s me

A couple of months ago, I was *Super Liked* on Tinder by a man called Tom. My first thought? Ugh.

I’d not even opened the app to look at his profile but already I wasn’t feeling positive. A Super Like? Ha. I know that this should be taken as a compliment – and I’m sure this is how Tinder intend it to work – but every time this has happened in the past, it’s been a complete joke. I’m not sure how much you know about the Super Like feature, but – in my experience at least – it is usually reserved for men who are desperate, drunk, or unable to decipher their left from their right and feel it’s safest to just jab at the screen indiscriminately. So I didn’t have much hope.

Needless to say, I was pleasantly surprised. This man was actually good looking. Judging by the (three) pictures on his profile (none of them topless or with a sedated animal), he was a regular, good-looking man. So I swiped the good way, we matched, and then he messaged me – so we got chatting.

I should probably confess at this point that I am terrible with the Tinder chat. If I don’t immediately reply to a message (and to be honest – who does?) I more-often-than-not forget about them, meaning it’s usually several days before I get back in touch with someone – especially if that someone isn’t someone I’m desperate to meet up with. When Tom first messaged I had a hundred other things going on – including several other dates to squeeze in – and he was snowboarding in France and clearly not looking to grab a drink anytime soon.

It was only when he messaged asking whether I’d got his previous message that I decided it was worth pursuing. Look how keen he is! (At this point I’ll acknowledge that this is a turn-off for some people – me included, most of the time. But when you’ve had enough of being ostentatiously ignored… Well, you can see why this was a good thing.)

We arranged to go for a drink on a Sunday afternoon after I’d spent the morning at a quiet art exhibition at the Tate Modern. I was feeling ever-so-cultured, but also hadn’t had a conversation with another human being all day so I was hoping – mostly – that he’d be interesting. And again – I wasn’t disappointed. Equally as good looking as his best photograph and very well dressed, Tom was an absolute dream. He was funny and entertaining and educated and mostly just all-round excellent company. And there was a spark! Once again I found myself spending far too long in a pub for a Sunday evening, but when he kissed me, it was bloody brilliant. And I started to get hopeful.

Can you guess where this is going?

Because I always have a hundred other things going on – but we clearly wanted to see each other again – I agreed to meet him the following Thursday evening. The catch? I had to play netball first and wouldn’t finish until about 7.45pm. He works close to where the matches are held so he said he’d wait the two hours for me (!!!) and after a frantic turnaround to get back into normal-person clothes, we met – mind blown again! – in Starbucks. (Granted, we had one coffee before moving to the pub next door, but the intention was there!) He told me it felt like ages since he’d last seen me and that he’d be instigating the third date, and the fourth… I’ll admit it, I thought this was going well.

In short, we had a brilliant time. And then –

*poof*.

Sigh.

Although he hadn’t disappeared off the face of the earth entirely, he’d – as expected – gone quiet. When I first sat down to write this blog it had been been a week since that Thursday date and I’d heard from him, what, twice? I know that that might sound like enough – especially considering each message has been about when I’m available to see him – but, let me give some perspective here. This is a man who was messaging me multiple times per day before we’d even met. Who saw me twice within four days – and felt that that was a long time to wait. Who SuperLiked me on Tinder! Messaging twice in a week – and not in response to my date suggestion – just wasn’t cutting it. And I figured it was only a matter of time before I never heard from him again.

When I was telling all this to one of my closest friends, she said, “It upsets me that you have such low expectations for yourself.” And that really struck a chord. Because – I don’t. I don’t think I’m any less deserving of someone wonderful than any of the amazing women I surround myself with (all of whom have been put through their fair share of unwarranted shit). I don’t think that I should expect men to disappear because I’m not good enough, or smart enough, or pretty enough, or thin enough. I expect – or hope – that I’ll find someone who wants to be with me just as I am. The reason that I expect men to disappear is because all of the evidence suggests that they will. Because they have. Every single time. At some point it was inevitable I’d start thinking I’m the problem – and I’ve got no reason to believe otherwise. (Apart from the fact that I know deep down that it can’t be me… But that’s a tough one to maintain in the face of this happening again.)

Note: There might be some updates to this story… Watch this space. 

Advertisements