He returned from his Christmas sojourn, I texted a polite 24 hours afterwards to suggest some meeting dates and he hasn’t replied within a couple of days.
Car crash? Kidnapped by a vigilante mob of Santa’s elves? Phone stolen? No, I logged into the dating site this morning to clear a message and he’s at the top of my hotlist in big red letters declaring online now. Big red letters declaring control your sarcasm appeared above my head. I will need to heed them as this trying to meet new people gig is getting tiresome.
I’m glad this man hasn’t come to ill harm nor thrown himself off a bridge in regret for offering himself to a stranger on NYE, but a brief ‘thanks but I’ve changed my mind’ would have been appreciated. Unsettling feelings aside about his overenthusiastic launch strategy, he was unattached, 10 minutes from home and could have been a nice diversion from my missing-in-family-action partners. We will never know.
To borrow the axiom of a wise and experienced man I met the other day, if you haven’t met someone within two weeks, it probably won’t happen. It is a handy rule of thumb and the timeframe seems consistent when recalling aborted contacts of the past six months, although the circumstances and reasons vary in all sorts of interesting ways.
This was also the week of the married policeman whose response to my question about realistic availability was, “Do you do phone sex?” Next. And the man featuring only cock photos in his profile, but seriously, it’s the ugliest cock I’ve ever seen, and I’ve never seen what I’d consider an ugly one before. Ever watched those Italian home-style cooking shows when pale grey pork sausage mince is force piped into shiny animal intestine sausage skins and tied in a constricting, too-tight twist at the top? Like that. Five photos was five too many.
In other news, Jekyll e-mailed the user name of a woman on the site he wants me to approach on our behalf (he also asked if I’d like to set up a shared account because I’m on holidays and would have time. That was the easiest ‘no’ in history. Let me do that again. No. No. No. No. No). And, like ArmyDude, he doesn’t have time to see me yet thinks a threesome with another person’s schedule to co-ordinate will magically happen. Reality check, please, my role as the most available isn’t an enjoyable one at present.
The woman on the site states that she’s attached and wants penpals with possible adventures further down the track without her boyfriend’s knowledge. In addition to my instincts screaming attention-seeking time waster or site fake account to attract men to buy subscriptions and my new two-week rule is already a guarantee, her profile photo features a man whose face is clearly in focus with his arms wrapped around her in a Hallmark Valentine’s card kind of way. No. No. No. No. No.