Posted in Single Life

Don’t ruin the good guys!

There seem to be very few good guys left in my generation.  My friends and I have spoken about it, and personal experience has proven this to be true .  So when I watched an episode of First Dates over the weekend featuring a girl who had a date with a lovely guy but afterwards said she wanted a ‘bad boy’, I cried inside.  She said she wanted a guy who uses girls, who isn’t interested in her as a person, has loads of other girls on-the-go, but makes her feel special when they’re alone.  It’s fantastic that everyone has different tastes, so everyone has the chance to be with someone if they want to be, but I felt that this lovely man will learn that girls want a ‘fuck-boy’; not a genuinely kind bloke.  And this is what he’ll become.

Please girls, let’s not ruin the good guys.

Posted in Single Life

I’m an optimist, not an idiot.

A month ago:

Great date.  He kissed me before I drove home.  He texted me at bedtime.

A few days later:

I suggested we meet up over the weekend – pre-op.  He couldn’t for decent reasons.

He disappeared for a few weeks; not even one text.

What have I got to lose?  He’s already not messaging.  May as well drop him a message.

Last week:

I received an essay back – he didn’t message for personal reasons.

He suggested meeting over the weekend.

Then silence again.

Earlier this evening:

I have had one date with this guy; I can check-in to see if tonight’s plans are still valid.

I sent a text.

The fun Friday night I had planned this week seemed less and less likely.

A few hours later he replied.

He ‘had to get drunk with [his] manager’ and would rather be ‘chirpy’ when we next meet.

I didn’t reply.

He messaged again.  ‘Home and bored now.’

My housemate told me to invite him over.

‘I’d be a drag.’


Would you please SUGGEST ANOTHER F***ING DAY?  I am feeling more and more like an idiot.





Posted in Friends, Relationships, Single Life

A letter to my ex.

Dear You,

The summer was confusing.  I missed you and you confessed you still loved me.

We nearly met up to see if we could rekindle things.  We didn’t meet – thank God.  Being friends wasn’t going to happen, was it?  At least not yet.  Any anyway, I was seeing someone (admittedly I wasn’t as invested as I would have liked to have been), but even if I wasn’t the residual feelings we had would have fucked any glimpse of a platonic relationship.  Then we had our phone call.  That was bad, wasn’t it?  You annoyed me so much.  I know I was in the wrong for inviting then uninviting you, and I get that you laid your heart on the line and then retracted it, because I might have dumped you again.  And you were right.  I was willing to give it another shot, knowing we could break up again if it didn’t quite work out.  Not my kindest hour…

Then we stopped talking again.  Total silence for a few months.  Even when I was in hospital I didn’t hear from you.

That was shit.  It pissed me off and it upset me.

You were with me throughout the year when I was undergoing tests and finding out what was wrong.  Hence why I dropped you a text the other day with the gist of: ‘FYI: I’ve had my op – all fine.  Hope you’re well’.  The messaging back and forth was lovely.  I hated silence; and I got the impression you didn’t like it either.  Our drink on Friday was fun too.  Catching up was a laugh.  Weird, but a laugh.  By 10:00 we called it a night.  Thanks for walking me home.  It was flattering when you called up to see if you could pop in to say ‘hi’ and chill for a little longer.  Sorry I had to say ‘no’ – it really was because my parents would have gone ape.

Then our Wednesday dinner was pretty cool.  You were awkward about me paying, weren’t you?  But I did say I would (and I always paid in our relationship, so it wasn’t anything new).  I know it was weird when we were talking about the guy I like and who I’m also sleeping with, but we were trying to be friends.  And actually, having a male’s opinion was helpful.  P.S. – I’m glad you’re over your dry spell.

Your suggestion of going for a drink after wasn’t your best move – we both knew who’d have to pay.  But, I admit, we had fun again.  Of course we were flirting because we have great chemistry, and – like we said – when our relationship was good it was really fucking good.  There was so much to talk about!  We were the last ones out the bar at closing time!

But I’m still annoyed at you.  I’m annoyed at you again.  Why?  Because we mainly only spoke about you.  Your main topic of interest is yourself.  And because I care about you, and am polite, I ask you questions about you.  How many questions do you think you asked me about me?  Ball park guess: probably around 5 over the course of the whole evening.

I’m glad things are well with you.  I realise that I don’t miss you, I miss the boyfriend experience.  I’m happy to be friends, but you make the effort, yeah?





Posted in Dating?, Single Life, Starting Something New

Is this appropriate..?

Last week I was in hospital.

What better way to pass recovery time than on Tinder?  Frequently, I paused to think about how inappropriate it was to be swiping whilst inserted with cannulas, drainage tubes and morphine surging round my body, but then I remembered how bored I was, how crap daytime T.V. is and how my concentration was so weak I was barely able to read a page of my book.

And then one of the guys I was talking to asked me to send him a sexy photo, despite knowing I was in post-op recovery.  I mean, what is more attractive than hair that hasn’t been washed for a week, with tubes, drains and bandages, on a hospital bed, nurses popping in and out asking if you’d ‘managed to pee and poo?’ and wearing a cotton nightie (something you’ve never worn in your life, unless it was tiny and made of lace or silk).

Naturally, I didn’t send a sexy photo.

He seemed put-out.

High on morphine, I promised to send one when I was home.

Why?  Why did I do this?

That’d be the morphine…

Of course I wasn’t going to send the bloke a photo – I didn’t know him, had never met him and he was so intent on receiving a dirty photo that he was becoming off-putting.

When I returned home, he kept commenting about how I had promised to send a photo on my return home.  I asserted my right to say ‘no’ to this stranger.  His response?

‘Why?  Don’t you like your body?’

Excuse me?

Just because I don’t want to send a naked photo to a stranger, does not mean I’m self-conscious of my body.  And I told him so.  ‘I actually really love my body’ [aside from the swelling, bruises and bandages I currently wear].

‘Then why?’

Because I don’t want to send a naked photo to a complete stranger.


I’m still surprised at his initial response to me shunning his request.  His idea that I must be shy because I don’t want to flaunt my genitals in his direction is absurd.  It’s because of girls who do, the girls who don’t seem frigid.  And that’s not meant as a criticism to those girls who do.  It’s 2016; we have all our fetishes catered to at the click of a button, we can go on a date with someone after just seeing some online photos and sharing a post-code and sex is all over The Top 40.  I’ve explored both sides of the fence: I’ve been the girl who shags someone after a little dance in a club and sends naked photos to guys I met once (admittedly, I regret this) and I’ve also been the girl who holds out for a guy to wine and dine me a bit first.  Since my last relationship, I’m struggling to pin down a guy.  My mum reckons “it’s because girls are so easy these days.”  Why would a guy settle with one girl, when he can quite easily pick up four or five other girls with a few swipes?

Maybe I need to find an older bloke; someone who doesn’t know what Tinder is.