Vanilla, please

Dating

Vanilla, Please


28th August 2019

 
 
 

Presenting a Game of Hoes; the life and times of me, myself and I on Tinder.

There have been many tinder diaries over the years; from Sex and the City, to Why Won't You Date Me to She Rates Dogs. These diaries cover the good the bad and the ugly of dating.

These short snippets cover my approach to dating, why it didn't work out and why they probably need to take a long rummage around in the hurt locker. First of all, my Tinder bio;

Ideally looking for a man with the same aftershave as my dad to fill the void he left.  But a woman who has attachment issues will also be welcome.  Will also swipe right on anyone called Harriet or a red head. No one is safe.  Once elbowed in the head by Jason Momoa.

Granted, there is a lot going on here. What is she looking for? A mum? A Dad? A partner? A fuck? To be honest, I have no idea. BUT it's a great conversation starter. And as a result, the weirdos descend (including my current partner so I must have done something right).

 
 

Now, I wouldn't say I was catfished... But

...this was definitely of the ocean variety. After swapping numbers on Tinder, I chatted to Lauren* for a couple of weeks before we arranged a date.
During those two weeks, she sent me various 21 questions, an invite to her friends wedding and a few curated lingerie shots. I was keen albeit a little taken aback by her intensity.

 
 

The First…

We decided to meet in Waterloo station, her train was late so I grabbed a drink in a bar and waited. Where I received a message form her saying she was outside, I invited her to come in and meet me. Her greeting came in the form of "I am so nervous" and a hug that was akin to your 80 year old great aunt at the annual family gathering.
We headed over to Hyde Park and laid down on a picnic blanket. Thus began the most stilted conversation since before the Rosetta Stone was created…
"so, where is one place you would love to visit? Be it fictional or reality?"

"um I don't know… I like being in Surrey"

(For international readers, Surrey is a small part of the UK that Satan personally oversaw the development of)

An Ice cream van pulls up. I go up and ask her what she would like. This van is Rome on wheels. We have mint, we have melon, mango, raspberry, rum&raisin, cookie dough, honeycomb, double chocolate, bubble gum. Whatever flavour you could imagine, they had. She asks for vanilla.


Vanilla.


Never in my life has a flavour summed up a date more than that.
Sadly things got worse from there on. She apparently hadn't seen any good films recently either.


… and Last Date.

I am not proud of how I proceeded to get my flat mate to call me Carrie SATC style and tell me something bad had happened and I needed to come home quick.
When I told her I would have to cut our time short due to a very explosive washing machine, she offered to come home with me and help. When I explained that wouldn't be possible she asked me if I was doing this to avoid seeing her. And like the spineless little whelp I am, I half-heartedly assured her that wasn't the case; thus ensuring my place in hell.
On our very awkward walk to the station, she asked if I would still fuck her. I honestly answered no; how very noble of me. When I got home we had a tense discussion via text in which I told her I didn't feel a spark, to which she delivered several essays explaining how there was a spark and I was a fool for not seeing it. The conversation ended with her asking who she would send her nudes to now… I chose not to comment.


Things I learned: honesty is a policy I should employ.