Here's the deal. I've been single since time immemorial. So, in an attempt to remedy my eternal singledom, and to get over my nauseatingly pathological fear of dates, I've decided to challenge myself. The challenge? To go on one first date a week for a year! So in 52 weeks time, I will have either found my Mr Right, or I'll stay forever Miss Write. This is what happens...

The Rules

Here are the rules to the 52 First Dates challenge...

1. A first date must be had once a week, EVERY week, for a year, that's 52 dates in 52 weeks.

2. Taking someone home after a drunken night on the cider does NOT count.

3. Second and third dates are allowed, I must continue first dates unless there are exceptional mitigating circumstances. For example, God forbid, the start of a relationship.

4. Each date must be blogged.

11 March 2012

Update on Mr #39

Howdy folks. Well, I think we all know how great I thought Mr #39 from last week was, and how much I was looking forward to meeting him again this weekend. So, rather than include this in a future post affecting another future date, I thought I'd let you all know how it went, as so many of you were kindly rooting for me.


I didn't meet him.

Why I hear you ask, since it went so well?

Beats me.

Since the date, there had been a couple of text messages, but all of my own instigation. He clearly wasn't a boy to banter, which is fair enough, as at least we'd have this Saturday to re-banter. But earlier in the week, I got a funny feeling that perhaps I had maybe got my hopes up a little too much too soon, which were further confirmed when I casually enquired if we were still on for Saturday, and I was met with radio silence. That old chestnut...

From past experience, I have learnt that when men don't want to reply to a message, ie to let you down or whatever, they opt to ignore you instead and hope that you just disappear. Why do they do that? It's not only hideously obvious, it's childish and rude. I wasn't going to disappear that easily. We had a lovely evening on the date, got on really well, and heck, I'd given up a whole Saturday day and night for this date #2, so I needed to know what was going on. That's only polite isn't it?

So late on Friday, I casually asked again as to whether we were meeting up, because if not, I would quite like to make alternative plans. Pretty swiftly he replied to apologise for the delay, but he'd been waiting to see if his dad was coming to London. As he was, he decided to cancel our date. It seems I'd inadvertently given him a get out clause, and there was no mention of rescheduling.

Game over.

I have no idea if his father was a genuine reason or not, I suspect that actually he's been going on other dates and found some younger, thinner, hotter models in place of yours truly, and you know what, I'm actually fine with that. Internet dating is ruthless. He could've dealt with things more tactfully, and I blame the Y chromosome for that. But I suppose what I'm not fine with is the fact that I had such a lovely evening with someone who couldn't have been more keen in person, and I foolishly let myself get my hopes up. And that is absolutely my fault rather than his. Perhaps it's because for the first time since starting 52 First Dates that I genuinely met someone that I felt a funny little spark with, and with that glimmering away in my sub-conscious, I let myself see beyond that one date and the chance that I might be able to quit 52 First Dates while I was ahead.

The world of internet dating really is a cut-throat one, and although I've known that for a while, I've not really experienced the wrong end of it yet. And bitter disappointment stings. Since I've been on 39 dates, I think I've been pretty bloody lucky. Everyone gets crushed romantically every now and again, some more than others, and of course it was always going to be on the cards for me sooner or later in going on so many dates. Hell, I'm surprised it hasn't happened more often! 

I won't lie, it didn't feel very nice, and of course I dealt with it in phenomenally mature style by getting embarrassingly wrecked. Funny how a skinful of Sauvignon Blanc takes the edge off, although I wouldn't recommend it, my hangover was brutal. But you know what? I'm a big girl, and I just need to suck it up, slap a grin on it and get back in the game. It was just one date, albeit a really good one. But there'll be more. Not everyone will want to see me again, just as I don't always want to see them again, so I just need to deal with it.

So the moral of the story is just to keep calm, and carry on dating.

...and I don't care what anyone else says, drowning one's sorrows does help.