Don’t tell my most recent ex-boyfriend this, but I met a better version of him with Date #20. After the horrific experience of Date #19 (Don’t lie Melissa, you loved it!) I decided I needed to cut weirdos if they said anything offensive, stupid or creepy and not to meet anyone who looked suspiciously tiny. My Tinder prospects immediately dwindled.
Enter Date #20. I have zero recollection of actually swiping on him but since I was notified at some point on Sunday that I had a match, I guess we had done so during one of my mindless swipe sessions.
Date #20 went for the bold first move and said “Hi Melissa, how’s life going?”. His Tinder profile made me think that he looked like my most recent ex (which wasn’t disastrous, just a solid meh of 10,) with the exception that he was Canadian.
AND REMEMBER HOW MUCH I LOVE CANADIANS?!
Since I love Canadians and hate chatting on Tinder, my first reply was: “Good. Would you like to go for a coffee or a drink now?”. He seemed a little taken aback by me coming on to him at 5.30pm on a Sunday evening and said “Just please don’t be an axe murderer, that would be the fastest request to meet on Tinder.. so yes”.
S u c k e r.
I assured him that I would leave my axe at home before proposing we grab a hot drink and walk along Oriental Parade (so that I could take my dog for a walk… I was becoming really resourceful with these Tinder dates!).
I insisted that I pick him up in the Barina in 20 minutes, before asking what sort of drink he would like. He said he wanted something good for recovery, so I chose some sort of fruit juice to ease his hangover.
After I initially messaged him at 5.26pm, he was sitting in my car by 6.43pm. Now that’s what I call efficient! (And potentially desperate).
Date #20 was quite similar to my ex on quite a few fronts. He was a little shy, rather lovely and seemed like the kind of sensitive soul who would find love at the end of a movie but whose scenes would end up on the cutting room floor, so no one ever found out.
I learnt that he worked in I.T and was here on a working holiday, just like my previous lover. It was nice that he had travelled, it meant we had a little more to talk about than basic bitch topics. We tried to find our common interests, and at this point there wasn’t a lot to go off.
Things got interesting when I found out he wrote poetry. I take back what I said about finding love at the end of the movie which no one cared about, this guy was smooth. He was real. I like the idea of a man who can express his feelings in more ways than the post-coital chat.
He was sweet and genuine, I’ll give him that. I don’t think our spark went off because I was talking too much about myself to make the time go by. After our moonlit walk along Oriental Parade which was a cute setting for any first date – until Richie went for a wee poo – we walked back to the Barina and I must have driven him home. I was busting to pee by this stage and could barely string sentences together.
He messaged me at 7.47pm to thank me for the spontaneous weekend. I said that it was so lovely meeting him as well and then never met up with him again. Although he did suggest it four more times after that.
During my month of swiping, I matched with a guy who often used to upload selfies which hinted at a six-pack to his Tinder Moment, along with pictures of his fancy looking red car. I made the choice to give him my number early on in the Tinder game based on the prospect of excellent ab selfies. I could only imagine how the conversation would go.
He messaged me the day I got Tinder. He sent me five messages in a row before saying “Ok I will stop boring you. All the best to you”.
Stage Five Clinger alert! God forbid I’m allowed to be too fucking busy to respond to a complete stranger on a phone app. I replied saying that I had been at work quite early (true) and that I go to sleep quite early (massive lie) as an excuse for not responding. He was somewhat happy with this response and sent me two emoticons in the next message telling me how cute I was. The conversation continued on a five to one message ratio, with him telling me that I was ‘so beautiful’ and ‘also you like dogs’ (clearly, that’s secondary to being ‘so beautiful’).
I asked him vaguely if he would like to meet for coffee, so that I could rip off the band aid and get this date over with. He then bombarded me with messages, saying that he was free at 4.30, whether that was okay, what I thought about this, sending a singular question mark, then telling me that “he would really like to understand what’s in my mind and that it is so rude of me.”
Looking back on this crazy exchange, I was clearly too focused on this 30 day challenge to stop and cut my losses. I felt like if I had invested my cellphone number and a small portion of my time, I had to at least try and make amends. I faked an apology and he asked me to respond to his texts in a timely manner, since the two hour lag between my texts was simply too much for him.
That week we texted on and off:
Date #19: “Do you have any time to meet me this week?”
Me: “When do you want to meet?”
Date #19: “Saturday will be great. But I’m scared whether you will reply to me on Saturday :(”
Me: “What do you want to do?”
Date#19: “Movie or dinner? Really want something quiet.”
Me: “Dinner would be good.” [Sidenote: I hate movies on the first date].
Date #19: “Cool! I can’t believe it but am looking forward to that.”
Me: “Give me a chance! What do you do in Wellington?”
Date#19: “No worries, I just don’t like games and I’ve had enough of girls’ games! So let’s start it again! I live here I have two jobs actually, I told you about that, wbu?”
Oh he hates games?
… I should have broken it off before it started.
On the Friday I had asked him whether he would like a drink that night. He then bombarded me with about eleven messages and told me to stop “playing with him“.
I was so sick of all his shit and I hadn’t even met him yet. I decided to CALL him as I was so agitated that I was contemplating yelling. I really wanted to tell him that I didn’t actually owe him anything since a) we didn’t know each other and b) he was coming across like a serial killer
When I did call, I kindly explained that I wasn’t texting him back because I’m a massive Tinder whore who is dating the entire Wellington population I was simply busy, but I was free tomorrow night and was able to meet up for dinner. I mentioned that I’d just had a big week of work and dating the entire Wellington region.
[Side note: I was so frustrated by this point that when I called him, I was reversing my car and accidentally rear ended my neighbour’s car. If you’re reading this, fellow Northland resident, I’m not even sorry.]
After this phone call he sent me four love-heart smiley emoticons and four love-hearts. Red love-hearts too. Is there such thing as a Stage 6 clinger?
On Saturday, he sent me a text in the morning telling me how much he was looking forward to that night. Being the cock-tease I am, I responded with a “Me too, x”. He then messaged me saying that he just saw me out with a black dog. That was true, but what he probably didn’t know was that I was off to Memphis Belle for a coffee with his predecessor. He told me then how beautiful I was with another red love-heart emoticon before asking if 7pm at Bluewater Grill on Oriental Parade suited me.
I don’t think anyone really realizes how exhausting dating can be when you have two jobs, a small dog, a big mouth and a huge appetite. You have to put in effort to be funny and adorable. My brain was full of nothing and yet I was exhausted and not even thinking about what I should and shouldn’t say to these Tinder potentials.
Anyway, because of the exhausting life I was leading, Richie and I had a nap on Saturday afternoon at around 4.30pm when he texted me. Experts say that naps should be around 20 minutes otherwise you’re technically just asleep on a Saturday afternoon. Because I was napping for two hours, I was technically sleeping an hour before meeting Date #19 at Bluewater Grill.
I’m a bad person.
Instead of jumping out of bed and urgently getting ready like a good person, I just texted him asking if we could push that to 7.30pm and (naturally), fell back asleep.
I woke up again at 7.11pm when I realised that I was going to be late again, so I texted him asking if 8pm was going to be okay, since I was “getting ready and running late, x”.
This guy sent me back four angry emoticons followed by a smiley face. I asked whether he had left already. Sure enough, he had and I was barely dressed and basically mucking around. I’m notorious for being late (less so since people have constantly mentioned it after reading my blog) but this was just pure bad form on my behalf. At 8.10pm, I got a text asking if I was still coming.
I was, I just hadn’t left yet. Appropriate YOLO.
Finally, at 8.23pm – about an hour and 15 minutes after the original time, I showed up looking like Ariana Grande since I had watched a YouTube clip while I was getting ready for some inspiration. I went for the adorable look and pretended like I was so clumsy and cute, claiming that parking was so hard (given the 100 options I had outside Oriental Parade in the middle of Winter, how could I even choose?).
I expected him to react along these lines, since I was technically an hour and a half late:
But instead, he stood up and greeted me with a kiss on the cheek.
When he stood up I had this horrible realisation:
He was a lot shorter than his Tinder pictures had led me to believe. I mean, I enjoy a bit of dramatic exaggeration, but come on, lie about the size of your dick, not your height!
He was barely taller than me and I’m 5ft! Ladies, never trust a man on Tinder that only has face shots, with no pictures of him and his friends because it either means he’s a tiny little man trying to hide it, or a loser with no friends to take pictures with. No wonder he had abs, there was only 20cm of real estate to tone!
I’m not one to get awkward but this whole night was just too much for me to grin and bear. I found out that Date #19 didn’t drink because he was religious and into his (20cm) abs and ordered a coke when I ordered a wine.
I was so excited for that wine.
I tried to be as sweet and innocent as possible and tried not to act like myself at any point. The guy was telling me how much he loved this restaurant (which has a 2.4 average rating on Zomato, FYI) and was so excited to finally meet me. He was from South America, loved his Mum and talked a lot about meeting a nice girl. He was in his mid 30’s and I could see why he was a little unlucky despite having a six-pack. He was relatively good looking, I was just shocked at how small he was in comparison to how he looked on Tinder.
I decided to get the same meal as him as he ordered a plate of grilled meat with a side salad. The conversation progressed slowly, to the extent that I checked my phone four times before our meals came out. I forgot to mention that we were the only people in the restaurant, so this poor guy was waiting for almost an hour and a half along in the restaurant sending me emoticons.
When the mains finally arrived, the only other two people in the restaurant came out (staff), one carrying the food and the other carrying a small white teddy bear and single rose.
Man, this was actually the worst thing that could happen.
I was mortified that he had done this. I know that he was sincere but this was also kinda creepy. I couldn’t deal. I thanked him and gave him a kiss on the cheek, genuinely blushing before resuming my plate of grilled meat.
I thought that things couldn’t possibly get worse that this, but they did. When I was eating my salad (that had far too much cheap dressing flooding it), I noticed there was a moth swimming between the sauce and the lettuce.
Of course there had to be an insect in my food. This date couldn’t get better otherwise!
I didn’t want to bring up the moth situation to Date #19 because he seemed emotionally ill-equipped to handle it. However my disgusted face betrayed me and he began panicking and thinking that he had done something to offend me.
“What have I said?” “What have I done?” “Tell me Melissa, what have I done”.
He was so quick to overreact, I would hate to see him in an actual disaster.
I finally told him about the moth and he was kinda just like “Oh okay“, as though it was completely normal to have an insect in your salad, and then he kept on talking whilst I decided that I was full and that I needed to leave. ASAP.
When I told the waitress/only other people in the restaurant that there was a bug in my salad, they offered our desserts for free as compensation. There was no way I could stomach more food after that and, luckily, Date#19 wanted to maintain his ab real estate.
When we went up to pay (I REALLY wanted to pay half), they offered us 15% off since I dined with a moth and Date #19 blocked me out of the way to pay for my (much-needed) wine, his coke and our two mains.
Turns out he had walked to the restaurant (of course he had) so I offered to drive him home and he graciously accepted. After a five minutes of driving, we got to his and he invited me inside to watch movies.
“Sorry I’m not that kind of girl” I insisted before he pashed my face and I egged him out of the car because I was ‘tired’.
When you decide to go on 30 Tinder Dates in 30 Days, you figure out really quickly what your type is because you’re swiping through the entire single population of Wellington.
“Oooh, older, light hair with a Dad-bod? Yes please!”.
Having such a type limits potential Future Boyfriends, and you may find yourself with slightly younger versions of your Dad, whose ‘Dad-bod’s might correlate to health problems later in life. Throw in a few inappropriate jokes and a German accent and I may as well just date my Dad.
With that a very real fear in the back of my mind (I’m pretty sure that most girls fear they’ll end up with a guy exactly like her Dad) I decided to broaden my horizons.
This wasn’t a token effort, despite my relatively relaxed attitude and low standards for Tinder prospects. I had to at least find them attractive and my rule was that I found them appealing enough to go on a date with them regardless of whether I had a 30 day quota or not.
Enter Date #18 who was the oldest Tinder date I’ve dated to date.
Yet it still felt as though the age gap wasn’t a deal-breaking barrier. He had a kid, was from the Hutt and according to his photos, was a body builder. So basically, he was still similar to my Dad, with the exception of the whole six-pack thing.
I’m not sure whether I was attracted to the idea of going out with a body builder, but I definitely had a crush on Johnny Bravo growing up and I was open minded to someone having a rock-hard version of a Dad-Bod. Who’s to stand in the way of potential true love with someone who is guaranteed to spend at least two hours a day leaving you alone honing his hot bod?
Initial contact pleasantly surprised me, as Date #18 didn’t succumb to this horrible stereotype that I unfortunately was beginning to create in my head that built guys would have personalities like Johnny Bravo. Date #18 seemed sweet, was employed and loved dogs and kids. His kid looked cute in photos too, so at least I knew in advance that he would bring some cute genes to mix with my womb.
Every time I go to the gym (so, twice in my entire life), I see these guys at the gym who have conversations with each other about their massive traps and I’m like:
With all of these factors in the back of my mind, Date#18 and I agreed to meet for coffee. He suggested Memphis Belle as it was his local and we confirmed a Saturday morning time of 11am. It wasn’t until the morning that we met that I realized I needed to wear something that hid my fat six/overweight eight frame that was growing rapidly with all of the free beverages and free food I was going through.. Date #18 was also a personal trainer, just to add a slight amount of pressure. I went for tight jeans and a puffer jacket to pretend like it was made to look as though I had a cute face, chubby waist, thick legs, in shape. I’m not usually one to get insecure but for someone who puts a lot of effort into their figure made me realize why I’m in preference of the Dad-bod.
I was running slightly late because of my slight outfit insecurity and ended up being at Memphis Belle before Date #18. One of my favourite things about having a dog is pretending like you’re never alone in public. I ordered a Trim Flat White and sat down on a wriggly chair, at a chipped wriggly table outside Shot Shack whilst I mourned my 17 year old self.
When Date #18 finally showed up around seven to eight minutes after me, he sort of gestured to the Barista to demonstrate that he wanted his usual, before asking me if I wanted anything. He used some sort of G-Unit hand gesture to signal this, which I wouldn’t usually relate to ordering a coffee.
We decided to move to the dirty hipster couches right outside the door and I started to realise we hadn’t engaged in much conversation other than the basic facts. It’s hard communicating with so many fucking Tinder potentials and talking to at least 80 out of 500. Getting past the basic greeting with me was anyone’s success story since I refused to communicate with anyone who said anything douchey, boring or weird.
I won’t lie, Date #18 was slightly fresh, but a lot more eloquent than I expected. For one, he didn’t seem to have a comb on him to manicure his cartoon quiff and he didn’t really seem to be overly indulged in himself. Great sign. He had grey bits in his beard and I joked that it looked like Richie’s. We talked about Tinder, life in the Hutt, and my dog. He was also a big fan of dogs and had a pitbull that is currently with his ex. He didn’t really bag her in front of me, though it seemed like it was an incredibly messy breakup that I respected him for ( not bagging her out I mean, not for a messy breakup!) He loved his son, his friends and his job, it seemed. I was getting to the point where I would start saying douchey things to see if he would succumb but he didn’t seem to take the bait.
Me: “OMG do you train girls that you find are hot????”
Date #18 “Haha, sometimes”
Although I wasn’t overly into it, I felt like he wasn’t either. I imagine this guy usually gets with teenage bottle-blondes who wear a lot of tight dresses despite being in his thirties. That, or my puffer jacket hid my chest and he was disappointed that my cleverly angled Tinder photos were clearly a ploy. Sorry babes!
I wasn’t completely off the mark with my assumptions, Date #18 must have only planned an hour for our encounter as at 12pm his friends rocked up to pick him up for some sort of sport in the afternoon and parked next to Dreamgirls yelling at him. These guys all seemed like they were 10 years too old to be driving crappy cars and living for the weekend but I guess that’s what YOLO was invented for.
Without being too critical, I was pleasantly surprised that he wasn’t actually Johnny Bravo, but I don’t trust a guy who spells his name wrong for whatever reason. I can’t deal!
I ended up running into him a few days later when I was meeting up with a girl where he suggested we needed to catch up again, then the next weekend too whilst I was in da clubs with another guy from Tinder. Turns out, he’s a bouncer on the weekend but let me in anyway despite holding hands with another guy. Thanks for the coffee and for letting me skip the queue!
Date #17: “Did you hear about the crab at the seafood disco?”
Me: “Haha, no.”
Date #17: “Pulled a muscle.”
Me: “How often has that worked for you?”
Date #17: “I can’t say it has. Have you got any good ones?”
Me: “Well I sea some potential. Not really. I rely on being female on getting me through a lot of things in life.” [Edit: this, dear reader, is what I call ‘biting sarcasm’].
Over the course of about two weeks, Date #17 told seven shocking, cringe-worthy jokes to get my attention. I guess in some cases, persistence is key to getting any sort of attention. It worked for him, as it got to the point where I felt like I at least needed to check this guy’s photos. They showed a guy eating a double scooped ice-cream wearing a Ralph Lauren top and sunglasses, a guy doing the thumbs up for the camera with a huge toothy grin and a guy on a boat with a huge beard. He told me he liked fishing during our tinder chat when I probed him regarding who he was and what he did with his life.
I wasn’t that enthused.
Our two mutual friends were also hardly anything to go off. One of them I had slept with, and the other I met when I turned up uninvited his 21st and got inappropriately White Girl Wasted, ate a lot of delicious ham and told his Mum how hot she was.
In any case, this wasn’t much to go off, but out of curiosity (and a little bit of desperation) I decided to meet with the persistent joker. I’ve gotta give credit to any guy who messages often with a little bit of substance, instead of just asking what I am up too all the time. (“Hae gurl, what up?” NO. “Hey” and “Hae” have the same amount of letters, so what’s the point?).
Anyway, Date #17 also seemed like a relatively good guy and he asked how Richie McPaw was to which my immediate response was: “Let’s go out for a drink tonight.” Even though he must have replied, I didn’t respond for a week. Good to know he was keen though.
Because I bailed on the drink I had suggested the week before, we eventually agreed on a coffee instead. I liked going on Tinder coffee dates during my lunch breaks, because it meant I didn’t have to commit much time, I got to see what the guys really looked like during day time hours with no five o’clock shadow, and I was also starting to gain weight really quickly going out for dinner and drinking every night at the expense of potential future boyfriends. Dates without food meant I didn’t have to eat painfully slowly in front of them, which takes up more time. Long Black, two equals, puh-lease!
Date #17 and I agreed to meet at Olive Cafe at 12.30, right in the middle of my scheduled lunch time. He suggested the location and because I’ve only ever had good coffee with good company there, I’ve gotta give kudos to anyone who suggests a Wellington venue with no hipster wanker vibe or pretentiousness.
Needless to say, I was being tardy/lazy and sent him a text to say that I was
“Rubbing a few minutes late”. Whoops. He at least had the courtesy to ask what I would like to drink before I got there so that it would be on the table ready. (Take note Date #6!) As it took me around ten minutes to walk up to the middle of Cuba Street I was only able to afford him 20 or so minutes which technically counts as a date, but barely.
Date #17 was rugged around the edges, in a good way. He had a wicked smile and a big bushy beard. He seemed like the type who went fishing and diving on the weekend followed by getting high during sunset. He was so relaxed and had a relatively good job in construction and was a few years older than me. He was hilarious despite the cringy Tinder jokes but I could definitely tell that I wouldn’t be his type long-term. He’d find me high-strung, I’d find him vague and ultimately, I hate fishing and can’t swim.
We were having a good laugh and I was stoked we weren’t eating since this was a sit-down classy lunch place. I awkwardly requested a take away cup when the coffee was ordered so that I could make a quick getaway, free coffee in tow. I gave him a bit of grief about his tragic jokes and spent a majority of the time dishing it out to him that it wasn’t a successful way of pulling. He agreed that it wasn’t the best, but used me turning up as a testament to what his shit jokes have done.
About 16 minutes in, I dropped the bombshell that I had to go back to work. Truth was, I was meeting my co-worker to buy some dry-shampoo at the make up sale since the day before when I was meeting the Canadian I found out when I got there that the building had flooded courtesy of the Victoria Street development.
The date ended with an awkward hug, and a laugh. He even asked me out on the Friday evening for drinks at Dragonfly where we hung out for a couple of hours, had heaps of rounds (instigated by him) before insisting we pay half and sticking his tongue down my throat.
We didn’t hang out again after that. He moved to Mexico.
I had planned on a quiet one for this particular Wednesday. This dating game was tiresome. Do you all even know how hard it is to find casual slutty work attire (slasual dress) to then have to socialise after work and attempt to flirt?
I’m definitely not an expert at guys or dating. All I seem to know in life is how to talk too much and drink too much, too quickly. I seem to open up the second I meet a guy, refuse to put out and then wonder why they think I’m crazy.
Date #16 was a friend of a friend who’s friend I had already pashed when he came over once to watch Fight Club. I was 17 and if it wasn’t already obvious with me writing this blog in the first place, it didn’t work out. I remember meeting Date #16 at a pre-drinks for the races, with my fake I.D, white blonde hair and Dove overly-summer glowed skin.
We had talked a few times over Tinder having previously matched a few times. He was a couple of years older than me and went to a catholic boys school. From memory, he always seemed to be one of those guys who had a girlfriend, but judging by his current Tinder status, he was available, and I was on the lookout for new prey.
The conversation was quick, fast and to the point. We must have had some banter during a previous Tinder life.
Date #16: “Hello again… so what are your motives? Trying to catch out a boyfriend or a friend’s boyfriend? Haha
Me: “Take me out and I might tell you. In saying that I don’t put out on the first date”
Date #16: “Sounds like a deal. After work something? Or the weekend?
Me: “After work sounds good. Where are you based?
We agreed to meet at Matterhorn, which is a relatively chilled out establishment where you can dine or drink. I’ve only ever had consumed their gin and tonics. I had been there a few times on dates with guys who were usually way older than me, so it could be widely used as a stomping ground for older guys to pass the time with younger girls and then after a few weeks or months, wonder why they’re on different levels.
We agreed to meet there at 5.30pm after work. I had every intention of arriving on time, since I had left work at quarter past five. Naturally, I got distracted by the huge sale sign outside Typo and ended up spending fifteen minutes looking at Coachella themed stationary for tweens at pocket-money prices. Whoops!
When I finally got there, Date #16 had patiently waited for me and hadn’t even ordered a drink. Obviously my stationary perusing wasn’t keeping the guy from staying hydrated for too long, I was simply adding to the mystery that is me by being courteously late (10 minutes and under). I ordered a gin and tonic, he ordered a beer and we started off the conversation with our mutual love of the Hutt and other common grounds – not that there was lots of that.
I planned on having a relatively early night. Mainly because this dating game was becoming more tedious and I was having the best time ever by myself.
After two drinks and reasonably B grade chat (not enough to get him laid, only A’s get the A) he suggested the idea of dinner. I was hungry and had no real food plans outside the fantasy ofBurger King, so we settled on Mexico, since it was close and a classy first date location forclassier-than-usual Hutt people. I had to move my car from the parking lot so Date #16 got to witness my terrible parallel parking skills as a bonus.
Mexico, in my mind is a bit of a funny place. It’s an Auckland restaurant in a Wellington location with a Wellington crowd where the music is too loud on a Sunday night with a lot of darkness and red hues covering the place. I’ve been there on three dates with three different guys. Two out of three of the guys I went with ended up profusely sweating due to the spicy fried chicken. Gross. I think I slept with one of them after dinner there one night regardless… I don’t know, I can’t really remember.
The fried chicken was good though. That I do remember.
I’m somewhat hesitant to regurgitate what was said during this date. Some of it was so cringe-worthy. He was impressed that I ordered a beer and I got ‘points’ for that. We ended up playing a silly game where we got date points for things that we liked about each other… putting that into words makes me more embarrassed as I type this. What is my life? Why am I such a loser? Is this why no one loves me? Date #16 was lovely though. I felt like he was boyfriend material. Not necessarily my kind of boyfriend, but he gave off that kind of boyfriend vibe. I don’t know how to explain this in words, it was just a vibe.
We started to transition into the friend-zone towards the end of the night. I think because he was playing it cool and I was just on automatic flirt-mode where I transitioned from outrageously forward, to overly-forward-clearly-putting-them-in-the-friend-zone, to being that girl that your friend is currently sleeping with so you maintain cool conversation and stick to the basic facts. I was being really open with this guy since he was cool with the idea of 30 Days of Tinder and I kinda felt like he wasn’t fazed that this wouldn’t progress into anything more. I paid for dinner to win against the points system. It was a $50 or $60 something ploy that I paid for to get some feminist snaps.
He send me a text the following Monday asking how my weekend was.
He sent me a text the following Monday asking how I was and that my mutual friend mentioned something.
I love Canadians. I love how accepting they are as people and how chilled out they are, generally speaking. Canada has mooses, pretty parliaments, polar bears and maple syrup. I’ve never been there, but I like to interact with Canadians to make up for this minor discrepancy and I always ask them to say “out and about in my awesome car.” It’s so cool. Some of the best people come from Canada.
Enter Date #15. We matched during my hungover Sunday afternoon and because I am extremely lazy and forward, I gave him my number after two Tinder messages which revealed that he was Canadian and relatively okay looking.
Usually it’s a huge warning sign if any one claims to be a foreign traveller on Tinder only here for a ‘few days’. They’re not here to wine and dine, needless to say.
Anyway, like I said, I was holding Canadians in high regard, (possibly due to my Sunday night) and Date#15 texted me on the Monday morning asking how my day was. Naturally, I didn’t reply because I was busy chilling with #14 the Dark Horse. #15 followed up that night with a “Hey still keen for tonight?” I made up some excuse about going home due to illness, but really I was just exhausted from the night before.
I messaged him the next morning and asked if he was free to meet that day. This was awesome; we were only about 5 messages balls-deep and already sorting out a time. My kinda guy. We agreed to meet at 12.30pm on Cuba Street and walk up to Hangar together. He had heard that place was good and I was yet to do a Tinder and or any other kind of date there as of yet.
Before the date I was buying tights from the Haus of G on Cuba (has anyone tried them? They’re so good!) and he was faffing around running late. So he CALLED me. I hadn’t saved his number but he told me he was outside Wisebuys on Dixon Street. When we finally saw each other I was mildly disappointed in myself for giving my number to him without seriously analysing any of his photos. Oops.
Date #15 was average height, of average build with strawberry blonde hair and ginger facial hair. He dressed like a nomadic white supremacist with a massive grey trench coat jacket and Doc Marten like shoes. He wasn’t bad looking. We greeted with an awkward hug and he smelled like homelessness and stale smoke. I wondered if he’d had a shower since arriving in New Zealand a couple of days ago.
… I don’t think he was just using Tinder to ‘meet’ new people.
But he was nice, although he had weak chat and was extremely quiet, which always goes down well with me since I’m so shy. After the short walk up to Hangar, we were seated for a fucking coffee and I realised that instead of getting accompanied back to work via an easy walk with minimal chat, I was in it for the long haul of at least fifteen minutes. Gutted.
I found out Date #15 was a traveller who had very few travel stories. He was either shy or scared of me. I assumed both. He was a carpenter by trade and he was travelling by himself . He acted slightly aloof on the date — not in an endearing way though, in a dumb, your-chat-is-shit kinda way.
Because the conversation was pretty bleak and his facial expressions were minimal, I thought it’d be funny to make the time go quicker by telling him stories about my sex life and my Tinder challenge. I needed something to fill the conversational black hole that he’d plunged us into, and the idea of telling him stories about my life and insecurities was unappealing, so I thought that telling him stories that made me sound like a Hot Mess rather than a Crazy Bitch was the best route to take.
Verbal diarrhoea proceeded. I had ordered a long black to drink quickly and after fifteen minutes of listening to my own voice and hearing appreciative grunts to prove that he was listening, I mentioned that I needed to buy some dry shampoo at one of those heavily-discounted perfume sales. I quickly got up to pay for our drinks because by this stage I was 100% sure that he needed to spend all the money he had on cleanliness.
I could tell that this guy was having a good time and anticipated great things between us, even though I told him that I talk up a huge game when I’m drunk, fall asleep and never put out.
After we walked up to the discounted perfume sale for Batiste bargains, we said goodbye and out-of-the-blue he went in for the kiss. It was so weird, we weren’t exactly the best of friends and this wasn’t a smooth-sailing date that was going to end up in a pash-fest.
Still, Date #15 seemed to obviously think the date went well and he messaged me two hours later to say:
Date #15: “We should smash a bottle of red.”
Date #15: “Tonight.”
Me: “I can’t tonight!!!”
Date #15: “Haha it’s alright.”
The next day, at 11.37am (seriously, why why why was I still on his mind?) he messaged me again:
Date #15: “Hey just curious of something…”
Date #15: “If you are on a 30 dates kinda thing what are you after?”
Me: “I’m not looking for anything but looking for everything.”
Date #15: “Ok that makes sense.”
He messaged me a few more times after that but given my one word replies, I guess he finally got the picture and I assume he’s since left this windy city and forgotten about me.
Almost half-way through this Tinder challenge I began to have this very relaxed and nonchalant attitude towards meeting strangers from my iPhone. I began to care less about my appearance, barely finding the care motivation to shave my armpits and brush my hair and there was no emoticons to describe my mental state for these dates other than the self-explanatory eggplant.
Date #14 was admirable with his communication. From the get-go, he managed to get three messages deep before I would even respond.
Date #14: “How is Richie McPaw?”
2 hours later
Date #14: “You out and about in town tonight?”
2 hours later
Date #14 “Having pancakes for brunch in the morning :)”
I replied at 6:52am the next morning. I had been out the night before and woke up in a previous lover’s bed at 4.30am, refusing to stay the full night to pretend to myself that I still had some sort of dignity and drunkenly made the excuse of leaving to get home for my dog. Nailed it.
Me: “Hope that’s an knifepoint”
Date #14: “At Neo at 11 feel free to join”
Date #14: “Pancakes were soo good. Could take you sometime if you want”
To be brutally honest, I was feeling a little bit sorry that I was being an actual shit correspondent unless the subject matter was about food and asked if he was free to meet for a coffee the next day (Monday). Sunday was a write-off and I took the day off from my 30 days of Tinder since I was absolutely hungover and slightly remorseful about my life choices. Because I was double dating on some days, I was 11 days in and two dates ahead of the game so I spent the Sunday lying in bed before going off to a social gathering with a bottle of red that is completely off the record.
Date #14 looked like a nice guy, but truth be told the events of the previous night overshadowed any potential Tinder date that was about to occur. My expectations were extremely low. His bio suggested that he was 6ft and liked coffee. He looked tall and had a slightly weird name. His photo selection was well-selected and showed him in the snow, in a suit and doing a hand stand. Seemingly harmless and didn’t look like a serial killer. Yay!
When I suggested we grab a coffee, he said he had class in the morning but was free around lunch time. I had this unwritten rule that I wasn’t going to date anyone at university, but Date#14 was five years older than me and I had graduated three years so he was technically well within the “mature student” category.
We agreed to meet at Apache at 12:30pm. Naturally I was running late and couldn’t check my Tinder since I was on the phone doing a training with one of the girls in Head Office. Poor Date #14 then saw me on the phone clearly getting my ear chewed off. I made pathetic hand gestures that I’d be off the phone soon enough. After about seven minutes of this awkward hand gestures, I introduced myself in real life and profusely apologised (wasn’t really that sorry).
Since I had chewed through half of my break doing a training for an upcoming campaign, I had 30 minutes to suss this guy out and inject some caffeine into myself. Apache was closed ( on a Monday?! Come on guys!) so I suggested we walked to go to Stories which was about 100 metres away.
Because I was super late and Date #14 was a student, I offered to get our coffees and we both ordered Long Blacks on this extremely average Wellington day. Date #14 was wearing a brown woollen jumper which is the perfect uniform for a mature student at Victoria University. He had very overgrown facial hair that wasn’t quite a beard, or a short beard that didn’t compare very well next to the Hipster on the Saturday. Regardless, he was good-looking and extremely easy to talk too.
I was overly open, informative and talking extremely fast, since I was caffeinated and in a rush. I told him about the Tinder challenge within the first four minutes of meeting and we talked ( I talked) about our Tinder experiences.
Date #14 had the best story about Tinder when I queried him of his experiences. Some girl once asked him to come around and build her bed and he, being the nice guy he is, was happy to build it for her. When the day came that she was wanting the bed made, she texted him and he went around and actually put her bed together.
Naturally I asked the obvious question as to what happened after the bed was made.
Yep, they did. It’s so weird learning about people you don’t even know have sex. It’s like, “I’ve just met you and now I’m picturing you naked and dry-humping a girl who can’t build a bed”. Regardless, it gave him street cred and I respected him more. I made him walk me after our coffee to get some food and offered to buy him lunch but that I’d need to eat my noodles at work. He politely declined. Eating Chef’s Palette alone possibly wasn’t his thing.
The date surprised me. Mainly because he was awesome and I enjoy guys who are upfront and say it like it is. The next day I told him how awesome it was meeting him and that he was an underdog. He sent me a few messages after that (five to be specific) before I responded with something vague and non-descriptive “Omg such good stories” before proceeding to give him the cold shoulder (without intention, he was just constantly asking me to hang out or whether I was out and I couldn’t commit!).
If he reads this, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I didn’t go around for a massage, get a drink with you, have Sunday brunch or reply to the 15 others questions you asked me to my three responses over 18 messages. If it’s any consolation though, I got drunk a few Fridays ago and played Tinder on someone elses phone when she mentioned she had matched you. I highly recommended you and told her to meet you. So if you pull a pretty brunette with shoulder-length hair via Tinder without having to build her a bed, you owe me a coffee.
When I first started this Tinder challenge, I had this overwhelming desire to go on a date with a Wellington Hipster. Big life goals, I know and so hard to find in Wellington! Where would I even find one? Little Beer Quarter? Golding’s? Dukes Carvell?
Because I’m lazy and a massive loser, its unlikely you’ll ever catch me at Meow listening to some unknown band having a good time unless I was so drunk that I thought I was listening to Kanye West. This is said with some conviction because I a) have been so drunk at Meow that I thought I was at a Kanye West concert and b) have been semi-drunk and been to an actual Kanye West concert.
I’m trashy yes, but at least I admit it. I haven’t spent the last eight years with cleavage spilling out of my Lippy dress and wearing heels I can’t walk in from Wild Pair to suggest that I was anything out of the ordinary. I own like three black “2 for $30 cardigans” from Glassons for fucks sake.
Upon first impressions and close inspections, Date #13 was by all sense of the word: a Wellington hipster. They’re even more hipster if they deny it. He had dark hair, brooding eyes and a big fucking beard. Oh baby. I really feel like his Tinder photos need step-by-step analysis to ensure we’re all on the same page with what hipsters look like:
1st photo: Front angle, close up of his beard taking up 40% of the camera real estate. Nailed it.
2nd photo: Him wearing a denim shirt and a striped t-shirt taking a photo of the person taking his photo. Artistic… I think I get it?
3rd photo: Him and a friend wearing Fay-Bans all suited up with a few buttons off his shirt. Sultry.
4th photo: Him wearing a plaid shirt and blazer at a premiere of a New Zealand film. So cultured. I can’t even deal.
5th photo: Him against a Subaru Leagacy on the beach. Hipster on beach?
6th photo: (Seriously, can anyone even find six good photos of themselves? ) Him holding his surfboard, on a beach walking towards the camera. Hipster on surfboard?
There was something attractive about him that I couldn’t place at the time (I think its because he looks like a younger, hipster version of my Dad). He wasn’t my usual type of blonde hair, blue eyes and Dad-bods – he was tall, dark and handsome. I was borderline intimidated and didn’t want to make the first move because, like I said in my previous post, I can play a long game because I’m crazy and date 29 other people.
Then Date#13 uploaded a moment. Of him and his dog.
All attempts to have played it cool were immediately thrown out the window. I LOVE guys who have dogs, I literally can’t even deal. I used to pretend to get jealous when my dog’s baby daddy held his leash and girls would give him the eye. I’d jokingly say in a cute way, “I’m kidding” but really…
I felt like I had landed the Tinder jackpot by matching this babin’ hipster who had a small fluffy dog. I couldn’t wait until we moved in together, got married and our dogs became best friends. Even though I was freaking out, I tried to play it cool and talk dog:
Me: “Your dog?”
Date#13: “Yep. That’s my little man!”
Me:”My dog is the second one in photos.“
Date#13: “Cute. What breed is he/she? Name?”
Me: “Italian Greyhound Cross. Richie McPaw.“
Date #13: “That is amazing.“
We started going backwards and forwards on this chat for a wee bit talking dogs and it took five responses for Date #13 to suggest we get our dogs together. Such a cheap line, I fell for it, hard. It took two days for Date #13 to get my number and we vaguely aimed for a dog walk on our first free weekend together.
We met the following weekend, I’d immediately texted him after I was full of brunch with White Jay-Z. Date #13 was chilled and free after his shower, though he warned me he was feeling pretty shady, had gotten locked out of his flat the night before and lost his wallet. God, hipsters are so unorganised. I guess that settled who was whipping out their Westpac Debit Plus card to pay for the first date.
We organised to meet up on the waterfront near Te Papa. I had Richie and he had his little pooch too. It was a windy afternoon and I was pretty sure I was ill-dressed for the cloudy weather.
Date #13 was immediately recognisable. He even walked like a hipster and kind of scuffled his way towards me in a semi-smooth way, wearing flip-flops, camel-coloured pants and a plaid shirt. He was dressed part hipster crossed with an arborist armed with a tiny fluffy dog (he did warn me that he was from the Wairarapa).
The conversation was casual and free flowing from the get-go. He was friendly and either relaxed or incredibly hung-over. I was surprised there was even an injection of personality since his face was 50% beard but he was pretty animated with his eyes and had a strong brow game.
The conversation was kept pretty light as we got coffees. Richie was yet to hump his smaller new best friend and they happily co-existed walking together. Being the responsible dog-owner that I am, I usually don’t mind having to pick up faecal matter especially when it comes from a six kilo dog, but timing is everything. Richie held our little dog-squad up and I picked up his tiny poo with two fingers and walked 10 metres in the opposite direction to put it in a bin. When I returned, Date #13 politely pointed out that there was a bin right in front of us.
We sat down at Kaffee Eis and I was paying so much attention to his dog since he (the pup) was so chilled and we discussed dog-lyfe, the balance of parenting and having a social life. Date #13 had already done some travelling overseas in his early 20’s and we had a few connections through a marketing agency that we had both done some work through. Half-way through the coffee, I was already forgetting that this was the first time we had ever met since there was very little filter to our conversation.
The biggest, burliest man came over during our coffee and I (assuming because Richie is kind of a big deal) that he was wanting to pat my dog. But no, the big, burly man was wanting to pat the tiny dog. I literally couldn’t believe it and Date#13 was not bothered by the attention his dog was lapping up.
After about an hour the weather started to turn, it kind of stunted the date and I had to eventually get home to be taken out to dinner by a previous conquest. He suggested having a beer at Black Dog as it was dog friendly and I was having a great time with this Hipster.
This is when the conversation got deep. I admitted to him about my 30 Day Tinder challenge and he had the chilled out “you do you” attitude and didn’t seem to mind that I was going to write about him. This then escalated to a woman’s right to her own sexuality and doing whatever the fuck they wanted. He was clearly a feminist. He spoke about his love for his younger sisters and how annoying it was when guys walk past him and call his dog a ‘faggot dog’ since it’s not the dog who can respond. “He’s defenceless! He can’t stick up for himself!”. [ Edit: I found out six months later when I met some people who he used to live with and read this particular post, they enquired who his sisters were as they were under the impression he was an only child. Decided not to probe this any further as surely people don’t lie about having siblings and he had previously confirmed that they were only ‘half’ when I asked him. The mind boggles.]
Urgh, I was already crushing on Date#13 and dreading going on another date with a previous conquest in a few hours (Which I can comfortably say, since previous conquest has since deleted me on Facebook because I’ve been dating other guys and writing about it). I had this feeling though that because I was too casual and open about my Tinder situation, I felt like I had immediately got the dreaded friend-zone. I didn’t really mind all that much, it was too early in the game to get caught up in one guy. I guess though, that I just wanted to marry this feminist Hipster and have 10,000 of his babies. Or in other words, have sex with him.
After three Tinder dates and one Silver Fox brief affair I was hung over on the Friday and sick of my own voice.
Date #12 and I talked back in early May before I deleted Tinder to be with da1 (Da1 who broke it off after 13 or so days. I was cut deep). His banter was so good that my flatmate Mon and I nicknamed him “Harry Potter” over drinks one night when this blog was in the ‘planning stages’. When we first started chatting I asked him to tell me something about himself and he said something along the lines like this:
“Umm… well. I grew up with my Aunt and Uncle since I was little. It was okay, except sometimes my cousin used to bully me and was kinda mean. Then when I was 11, a huge man came to my house on his motorbike and told me I was a wizard. Life’s been pretty good since then.”
Possibly it was because I read this over a few glasses of wine, but at the time and to this day I found this hilarious. On the banter scale, it was a 10.
When you’re dealing with guys on Tinder with shit banter, they’re either saying something too far out of left field as though they’re trying to be different, or something too basic that it doesn’t even warrant a reply. Date #12 was the Goldilocks of Tinder chat and it seemed like there was a lot of prospects especially if it was going to be slightly dry and referencing Harry Potter at any point. Which made me curious and determined to meet him…
Turns out Date #12 was the most hard to get, cynical guy I’ve ever talked to on Tinder. It was as though he joined Tinder, knowing instantly that he would regret it and scathing everytime he got a notification from someone on there. He seemed like the type that was nice, but overly picky and hesitant that he was going to get cat-fished every time. Later I found out, that he only felt that way about meeting me.
He was reading way too much into my initial bio on Tinder which I had something along the lines of “I have ulterior motives as to why I’m here”. (Edit: I’m such a wanker for writing that as my Tinder bio.) I also once posted a snap story asking who wanted to brunch with me, after organising with Harry Potter, to have brunch the following day. I could almost forgive him for giving me the hot and cold vibes since upon reflection, I was sounding suspicious by agreeing to brunch, then publicising that I needed another brunch date for a different day. Smooth.
Regardless of his hesitant attitude towards meeting me, part of my crazy bitch attribute is that I can play a long game if required (while maintaining 30 others). Since we had arranged to meet for brunch the week before and had I not bailed to brunch with my best friend, then Date #12 would have been Date #3. Over the following week plans were made then abandoned probably due to a combination of his catfish fear and being busy with life until the following Saturday which is when we finally met. I was too exhausted to entertain on the Friday after four dates on the Thursday and could afford to skip a day since I had already done 11 dates in the last week. I also hate Friday night dates. It leads to drinking and then, if one isn’t careful, leads to something more.
Date #12 and I agreed to meet up at PreFab. In my brunch-obsessed mind PreFab is amazing. The creamy mushrooms are incredible, the portion sizes are good but not huge and the price reflects this. I like to use the bathroom every time I go there solely to use their Aesop hand wash and I genuinely like the easy layout of their café. The waitresses wear brightly coloured lipsticks and the food comes out quickly. Above all , it’s dog-friendly and Richie loves to socialise on a Saturday morning.
Richie and I arrived, strangely to time and we were slightly early so we found a spot outside before Date#12 arrived. I was wearing knee-high socks with a black skirt and a polka-dot top that showed far too much cleavage. It was kind of cold that day and my nipples did not appreciate my choice of outfit.
First impressions of Date #12 was that he was as tall as I expected (5ft 8ish) but more muscular than I expected. None of his photos showed him smiling and one was even blurry. He was wearing the whitest t-shirt I’ve ever seen (“Sorry I’m five minutes late, was picking up a new white t-shirt from AS Colour”) with a Nike jacket and a snapback cap. He dressed like a Caucasian Jay-Z, where he could afford to dress well but still wanted to look he had street-cred. His Country Road socks are testament to this.
The conversation was pretty light-hearted and not overly awkward. He wasn’t as open as I and seemed pretty guarded but was friendly and open-minded. He was clearly really curious about what I was doing on Tinder soliciting boys for brunch, so I was pretty quick to confess that although I was genuine, he was part of some social experiment. He took it pretty well, although he asked whether there was cameras around and I advised that this was just a low-budget blog.
One of the things about Date #12 was that his Tinder line was his occupation (Who does this?!) which I won’t reveal in this blog but he works for a film studio that takes its name from an ugly insect. He was really down to earth but it was clear that he worked hard and I assumed he was good at what he did. He moved to Wellington a year ago for work and was originally from Auckland.
Richie took a liking to Date #12 and was rather happy to sit on his lap. I cannot fathom how forward Richie is sometimes with strangers, I haven’t taught him the importance of stranger danger. It took a weird turn when out of the blue, near the end of the conversation, Date #12 asked me to look the other way since he had cramp so that he could pull a face and deal with it. So naturally I looked back. The situation then went as follows:
Despite this weird seven second moment, the date wasn’t a disaster. I asked if he could look after Richie whilst I went to the bathroom to wash my hands and then went and paid the bill, even though this guy ordered twice the amount of eggs and that costs like $10 extra “How many eggs? Two? Okay, can I please have four?” and because I’m a strong independent woman.
When I got back to the table, he was like “Urgh, you paid” and part of the reason why I did was because this challenge wasn’t about getting free food or wined and dined and I cared enough to ensure that he didn’t leave with that impression. Also, I have an this unreasonable phobia of split payment on a date.
Date #12 walked me to my car after the date and refused my offer to drive him to his car afterwards. It was kinda mega awkward saying “Bye!” *awkward hug* to then watch him walk down the street afterwards back where we came from. Although the date went well, I got the most doubting text that night from him.
Date #12: “Thanks for brunch today, I actually had a nice time.
Me: “Should I be worried about that “actually” bit?”
Date #12: “Haha! The “actually” was incase it didn’t come across that way. If you’re interested though, I think we should “probably” do it again.”
For some reason, I’ve had a lot of hesitation as to whether to post this.
There are a few things that I’ve chosen to keep relatively quiet, so far. Not because I’m embarrassed, but because it’s one thing to talk about going on 30 dates in 30 days. It’s quite another to talk about more than an innocent date that goes no further than a pash and crotch grab in the Barina.
There were a few ‘rules’ that I set myself during this challenge. One was, I probably shouldn’t sleep with anyone unless I had 10 dates with them. For me, that’s a general rule I try to stick to because it usually rules out the type of guy I wouldn’t want to sleep with regardless.
It’s not that I’m against casual sex. I’m all about it. Heck, sex is great when it’s casual, naked and some T.I is playing in the background. It’s just that I’m against casual bad sex. If we’ve only met once, the banter’s average even though there’s alcohol involved, I doubt I’m going to get more than six-to eight minutes (if I’m lucky) of boring Netflix and chill.
Another rule was, if I don’t want my Mum, Dad or Grandma to read about it then I probably shouldn’t be posting about it in the first place. Luckily for me, my parents raised my sister and I according to the “you do you, babe” school of thought (although those words were never said). The bar for shocking my parents is set pretty high. I broke my front teeth when I was 19 while completely intoxicated at a bar. Both of my parents came to the dentist with me, where my Dad is still making the joke “that’s what you get for dancing on tables.” Sure, my parents don’t want to hear about all my pashfests in the Barina, but I think they probably understand that I’m not at home reading some Mills & Boon waiting for da one to come to me.
In short, if you’re upset by the life choices of others, you should probably stop reading. I don’t know why you even got this far. With that out of the way, I’ll admit that I totally met up with the Silver Fox from Date #11.
There was an instant attraction. This guy oozed confidence through his voice, the way he stood on the side of the road and the way he looked at me. He messaged me while Date #11 was wrapping up, and I tottered down the road to meet him. Not that I need to justify meeting someone almost twice my age, but if you really need a reason,will “because I wanted to” suffice?
The Silver Fox and I meet up and it’s late, 10.20pm on a Thursday night. I’m kind of drunk, I probably don’t look cute at this stage, but curiosity and attraction have carried me this far. We meet at D4, which isn’t my usual place to dine or drink so I suggest we go to the Green Man which is probably way more up his alley, anyway.
We drink Gin and Tonics and I find out more about him. He’s in Wellington on business and is originally from Australia. He’s married, but separated, and now has a new partner. He has two kids. It’s very clear that he doesn’t want to focus on this part of his life, so I don’t push it. Ultimately, I don’t want to know and he doesn’t want to talk about it.
After a few drinks, he suggests we go for a walk. We walk along the waterfront, it’s freezing (like 11.30pm in the middle of winter freezing) and he helps me warm up by wrapping me up into his big suit jacket. There didn’t really feel like there was a massive age-gap between us, except for when he mentioned that he worked on a song in the late 90’s. I don’t think he’s from Savage Garden.
I put my hand on the back of his head and found that he was incredibly light on hair back there, something being short lead to me missing. Urgh, old people problems. Yet, still we started kissing along the waterfront with his hands wandering everywhere.
I didn’t go back to his apartment with him. The conversation came up and in my drunken mind, I couldn’t tell whether or not this was a good idea, knowing he had a wife, a new partner and kids in Australia. It’s so easy to pretend like they’re not a factor when there is zero mention of them other than telling me they exist. I told him that I’d love to see him tomorrow and so he put me in an Uber and asked me to let him know I got home alright.
He asked me for a drink the following night and was pretty persistent.. “Miss u want u …*sigh*” and when I told him that my friend had come over (anyone remember the Crotch grabber) he offered to send them home and pay for their dinner.
I flaked out a few more times over the next few weeks, not that I think he got the idea. It became apparent to me that there wasn’t enough of a connection to justify it to myself. In hindsight, I was probably just drunk and lonely. Realistically, it’s not a situation that one would knowingly agree to based on the likely outcome… What, he’s going to fall in love with me and move to NZ to be with me, or I fly over there and play Step Mum #3? Uh…
So with that, to those who presumed that I bedded an old dude, I’m sorry to have lead you on..
Oh, and no, I won’t say whether or not I found him in the Ashley Madison leak.