I didn’t plan on becoming a serial first dater, in my soppy daydreams I imagine a waltz into the sunset, however it seems the idiosyncrasies of my personality, twinned with the plain bizarre disorders of the over 30’s male see me rarely with a second date. Let me start from the beginning…
Serial dating all starts with a desperate friend. I know the instant my friend Kate asks if I am doing anything, she has an idea in mind.
“What are your plans for tonight?” She asks innocently. I want to tell her, chamomile tea and a good book, however, I am familiar with Kate’s sarcastic “Woo Woo” s now, and I really haven’t the energy to be annoyed with her tonight.
“I’m having a glass of wine, watching a film.” I lie; I’m not in the mood for visitors. “I’ll be there in five minutes!” She states, and the line goes dead.
True to form, four minutes later, a tipsy Kate stumbles over my doorstep. Bottle of wine in either hand. She points at me accusingly,
“You!” she shouts, “get those pajamas off and change into something better, right NOW!”
I feel more than a little intimidated when Kate’s drunk, however, her sober state is a complete contradiction to this slurring giant before me.
“I can’t go out Kate,” I explain, in my most assertive mouse voice, “the kids are upstairs.”
She laughs as if I’m thick. “No need Martina, why go out, when the party can come to us?”
I’m seriously worried at this point. Little angels of three and seven asleep in their cosy beds. I’m imagining the cast of shameless crossing my threshold anytime now. I quickly look out of the window, and breathe again when I see the full cul de sac is clear.
“No,” drawls Kate, “Look, just dress up as if you’re going out, make up everything, I’ll explain the rest.”
I take a wine bottle from her, claiming it as my own, seems I may need a little tipple if I’m going to get through whichever surprise she has.
Half an hour later, I’m relaxed; Kate has sobered to an acceptable state, and is busy moving ornaments around my living room. A plant stands here, a vase of flowers there. My fluffy throw in front of my log fire5
“K-K-Kate!” I stammer in my best schoolmistress voice, “What are you doing?”
She takes my elbow as if I’m an old woman, and leads me to the fluffy throw.
“You look lovely,” she says, grinning, “now lay on here, on your tummy, face up on your hands.”
I’m mechanically doing as she says, and I realise, I’m in the exact position she wanted me to be before I ask,
“Why?”
“Photographs,” she replies simply. “If we are going to bag a man, we need photographs.”
She takes a digital camera out of her handbag, and starts snapping away.
“No, no, look at the door, that’s it, smile, pretend you’re shocked, yes, ok feet in the air!”
She’s really getting into the swing of it, I’m quite enjoying being in front of the camera when she stops.
“Right, now my turn!” So we repeat the process. I realise Kate’s new hairstyle as I’m photographing her. She leaves nothing to chance, never. Always the planner. Myself, I’m laid back to a point of not caring. It’s a wonder we gel.
With the photo session over, the photos copied to my computer, Kate finally tells me her idea. I’m past caring now, if it was little cards in public payphones I’d say, “Go for it!” my third glass of wine, and all is right with the world.
“Here,” She pulls a chair up beside mine at the computer, then leans over and connects it to the internet.
“Go to www dot single parents dating dot com.”
I moan as I type the address, “Kate, we’re not that desperate, are you?”
“The way I see it,” says Kate, “I’m forty now, and I haven’t got time like you to wait for Mr. Right second time around, my clock is ticking, this village has given me all the pickings it ever will, so if Mohammed won’t go to the mountain.”
“I’ll help,” I agree, seeing her point, I am ten years younger after all, “ but I’m not joining myself, I’d rather leave it to fate.”
“Please yourself,” huffs Kate, “but look where that got you last time!”
I know she’s thinking I’m a fool at this point, but I am just not that desperate. There are certain aspects to marriage I do miss, but being single for a year has shown me, there’s an awful lot more I don’t. Divorce has made me cynical.
We upload the best photo of Kate, and in my mind, it looks nothing like her. It’s a little blurry, and her glossy hair is covering most of her sizzled face. It also shows a lot of cleavage, which is very difficult to distract the eye from. I’ve never seen Kate’s cleavage before in my life. Sober, she is very shy and reserved.
I notice her ticking the athletic box for body type. I cough, “athletic, as in female sumo wrestler Kate?”
She glares, but smiles, “trust me, the men expect you to lie a little, it’s all part of the game.”
She then goes on to take five years off her age, and five bottles a week off her wine intake.
With her profile complete, we start browsing members. Not all of them are freaks, I’m surprised. We do a quick search of our village, and a familiar face pops up.
“That’s Joe!” Screeches Kate. I’m in shock. It’s a running joke with us, I think he has a lovely bum, but have never plucked up the courage to talk to him. I don’t think he knows I exist. I’ve only lived in the village since my divorce, and have been successful in keeping myself to myself.
Kate is hopping about, shaking a cigarette out of a packet, whilst skipping to the back door.
“Ha, Ha, HA!” She’s mocking me; I’m still shocked, staring at the screen as if it’s an illusion. What would a fit young man like Joe be doing on a dating site?
“Bet ya gonna join now, miss, I’m not that desperate, HA!” She shouts from the back door, and she’s right, I’m filling in my profile, whilst she smokes.
About me: I used to think dating sites were for desperate people, however, that snobbery has now being removed since I discovered Kylie Minogue and Jennifer Aniston are at it. If you find them, let me know, if not, drop me a line, I can look like Sandra bullock if you have your beer goggles on.
My Dreams: Consist of David Tennant, myself, a few daleks and a TARDIS. My Best features: My friends say it’s my smile, myself, I could say my patience, intelligence, neatness, but really I’m the most impatient person in the world, I’m untidy, lazy, and sometimes a bit thick. A good all rounder!
Music: Not reggae, house, garage, west life. I lost my goldfish last week, and still I didn’t resort to depressing music, what’s the point?
Television: I love it!
Books: Crime, thrillers, bestsellers, autobiographies, biographies, fantasy, horror, backs of shampoo bottles.
Movies: The usual.
Would like to visit: The moon.
Heroes: Sickeningly, I find a hero in every person I meet, aw.
I upload my best picture, the pose Kate chose had given the impression of a flat tummy. My cheekbones are positively pronounced, my hair a glossy mane, if I were a man, I’d fancy me. The little peak of cleavage helps too.
Kate’s phone tinkles, and she answers it whilst taking out another cigarette. I can tell who it is by the way her fingers are subconsciously twirling her hair near her mouth. It’s her bed buddy. Since Kate found herself divorced, at the tender age of forty, with four children and little life, this man has given her the confidence to grow, to find her own way again, whilst at the same time releasing a feminine figure so passionate at times she surprised herself about her depth of feelings. He’s been her saviour, but he’s a no hoper. A wanderer. Never to settle down, never to be happy with the house, the wife, the life. So Kate is weaning herself off him, gradually. She can go weeks with not a word, but that third glass of wine on a Friday evening is always a decider for Kate. Deciding whether all men are fabulous, or fakes. Tonight, it’s fabulous. Thank heavens.
As she chats, I read Joes profile, it makes me laugh, I see he reads books, which, believe me is pretty rare to find these days. I’m quickly convincing myself that this night was starred by the gods. Its kismet, I’ve found Mr. Right, here I am, about to live happily ever after. I’m positively bouncing on my seat, as I subscribe via my mobile phone.
“He says he likes pillow fights!” I shout to Kate, “I love pillow fights!”
I read through for the fourth time,
“He was in the Navy! Kate, look!” I’m pointing to the screen; Kate has never understood my admiration of Joe’s bum. She mumbles something to bed buddy on the phone, and walks out side again.
“My Granddad was in the Navy!” She’s not getting me down. She’s jealous is all. Nothing more. Probably worried her best friend has found someone to spend cozy evenings in with so soon.
A window pops up, as my eyes begin to cross. It’s yellow and flashing, I can’t miss it, although the garish flash is in tune with my pounding heart.
I’m in front of a computer screen, yet a deliciously, delightful shiver has crept from my toes to my head, and is now dripping slowly from my top lip, (which really should be waxed soon), I find a little empathy for my ex-husbands nocturnal internet travels. Not much. It’s still there. Flashing.
JOE WOULD LIKE TO CHAT WITH YOU. Click here.
Of course, I click. Kate has wandered to the drive, out of shouting distance, so I’m all alone in this. I feel it’s right. The conversation starts. I’m glad I’m typing, as I stutter slightly when nervous.
Joe: Hey M, you’re HOT!
Not the opening line I was hoping for, but still, maybe he needs a little prompting as to who I am before he realises fates at work here.
Me: Cheers Joe, not been on here before. Saw your profile, and thought, what a coincidence.
Joe: A coincidence? More like luck. You’re steaming baby.
Me: Erm thanks, so how does this work?
Joe: Well, we see if we like each other, then arrange to meet.
Me: I’ve so many questions I want to ask you.
Joe: Ok, one at a time. I’ll start. Where do you live and work?
I fight back the insult, as I’m sure it’s not intentional. I always hoped he’d noticed me as much as I had him. Obviously not, let’s crack on then.
Me: In Humswell, gardening. It’s my own business.
Joe: oh, ok, new business, I work at the college, Sports Science teacher.
I want to reply, I know, Joe, I bloody know, but I don’t.
Me: Cool, so your kiddies, not with you tonight?
Joe: No, how many do you have? How old are they?
Me: Joe, Mitch is in Ben’s class. Poppy is in Eva’s nursery. So I guess, exactly the same as you.
Joe: You’re Mitchell’s mum?!!!!
Me: There was never a dispute over the maternity, Joe, yes I am. Does it matter? Joe: I see it, of course it’s you, wow, I guess I didn’t see past the5.
Me: Boobs?
Joe: No, lol. Your eyes. Hair. You scrub up well Martina, hey phone’s ringing, got to
go, catch you tomorrow night yeah? Me: Ok, Joe. Nice to chat at last.
That’s it, window closes. I’m on an absolute high. I have feelings I’ve never felt before, a tap has been turned right back on. I’d thought for the past however long that I could survive perfectly well without these emotions; I thought I was happy, now however, I wonder how I ever got out of bed in the morning without them. I’m back! A taxi pulls up outside, and I see Kate stumble into it. My phone bleeps. A text.
At bed buddies for the night. See you for breakfast in the morning. X
I clean the wine bottles away, singing as I do; I collapse into my soft bed, and see the empty right side as been filled sometime soon. I’m sorted.
A week passes, and as much as the highs are amazing, the lows cripple me. My emotions have been used to a lot less strain of late, and I feel as though I’ve given up smoking for the second time in a year. I’m jumpy, snappy, restless, and paranoid. I can’t eat, or hold a decent conversation, so sitting across from Kate in a supermarket café, awaiting a full Monty breakfast is not an ideal situation to be in.
“He’s a player!” announces Kate, not softly at all. “He realizes you live in the village, it’s too close for comfort. He doesn’t want a relationship, he wants a bed buddy. No strings.”
“He never struck me as that type of man,” I mutter, still defending him. The fact he had not messaged nor chatted since that one night, momentarily leaving my mind. “SNAP out of it. Gone, finite. Move on!” Kate’s losing patience with me. She doesn’t
realise how much it stings to lose a fantasy. To know it’s never a possibility. To accept defeat is not in my nature. To be dumped, well, this is my first time. I’m sure it’s character building, but right now, I feel like the ugliest, fattest, socially inept person to walk the aisles of Sainsbury‘s.
I don’t understand the non-communication. After glass of wine, a couple of times, I had sent Joe a message. Not being used to men not falling over themselves to talk to me, I’d verged a little on the bunny boiler side, became obsessive about any contact from him, when he last logged on, if he’d read the last message I’d sent. Luckily, I’d faked non-chalant in the emails. Preserved a little dignity then. Hm. didn’t alter the fact that he had opened said mail, read said contents, and decided not to respond.
Guess I’m not the one to make him jump when the phone rings, (his words, not mine, profile5.twenty seventh view), or to give him a few butterflies, (his answer, to what he’s looking for); I guess I just don’t float his boat, (my words, cockney father.)
Kate snaps me out of my wallowing.
“Have you checked your messages on there?” She asks.
Every hour of every day, I think. In fact, Joe may have replied whilst I was here eating sausage.
“Of course,” I reply.
Kate smiles, it’s a patronizing one, but I haven’t the energy to bristle as I normally would.
“Ok, so how many messages have you got that are not from Joe?”
I think, picture the inbox in my head. It’s a trick I have and brilliant for last minute
cramming. I see in my mind’s eye, all the closed envelopes with names next to them that don’t begin with J. Insignificant.
“About thirty.” I sulk.
Kate grabs my un-manicured hand, and brings it towards her chest. Clutching it with glee.
“You just don’t get it do you?” She squeals, “That’s thirty single men that want to date you!”
It does dawn on me, and my confidence peaks just a little.
Kate’s standing from the table, my hand still clutched in hers; she leads me like a tired schoolchild from the café.
“Forget food shopping!” she exclaims, “you’re journeys just begun, we’re off to get you a man!”
Let the games begin.
Episode 2 will be released next week, until then check out these fabulous reads.