Same Story, Different Guy.

Bonjour catastrophe-loving followers! Hope you all had a good Halloween? I did - but I can't share until I've caught up with all my dates so far. Can't very well do things out of chronological order can we? That would be totes confusing.

Photo taken from here.

So, after the utter disaster that was Cameron Huntingdon and his wig wearing ways, you'd think I'd have been scarred for life on the whole online dating front, right? Well, no. Bravely, I decided to march on, even after metaphorically taking a huge hit on the front line.

Also, I'd already arranged a date with another guy before the wig horror, so I couldn't really back out. But MAINLY I was taking a huge hit on the front line.

This is one of those stories that isn't particularly a disaster, just a classic dating story. I met Phillip* on Tastebuds, as per usual, and after a few messages and liking the look of his profile picture (he only had the one... I should have been/am now always wary of people with only one picture) we agreed to meet for a drink. Learning from the last date, I didn't factor any dinner into this equation - a drink usually means an easier way to escape. Also, I'm not a fan of dinner on the first date with someone you've never met before.

We had a lot in common, it seemed; he too was a fellow creative type, and ran his own review website. We liked similar music too, which is always a plus. I decided it would be nice to meet along the Southbank - perfect first date ground; lots of people to watch, loads of options for food and drink, quite romantic (Thames and all) but, selfishly, really easy for me (and him, actually) to get home from!! Ha. We met at the BFI - They have a bar on the top floor with great views of the Thames, pretty cool.

I was meeting him after work, running a bit late. Finally got there and met him - I had a sly check, pretty sure he wasn't wearing a wig. Check. However - he was tall. Reeeeaally tall. Probably my fault for not checking his profile properly, but he was about a foot taller than me. I'm not a midget - average at 5'4" - but he must have been over 6fit, definitely. I like guys to be a bit taller than me, but anything over 6ft I don't feel comfortable with. I don't like being constantly looked down on, or having to stand on tiptoes to kiss, and - this is generally speaking - taller gents usually appear on the lanky side. Now, I do like a skinny guy, but tall and skinny - not really my cup of tea.

Never mind, I thought, lets not rule him out yet. It's not on looks alone! He was not, however, as attractive as his profile picture, and I realised later this was probably because his picture was in black and white. Everyone looks better in black and white. I should have realised this. He did look mostly the same IRL, but he had a tad bit of the spotty face going on (not judging - just saying - I get spots too) but that's really hard to be attracted to when he's not ticking all the other boxes. I was genuinely disappointed. Le sigh.

Despite my shallow observations, we had a really lovely date, had a few drinks, walked along the Thames, then went for some cocktails in a cool bar elsewhere, and got on very well. Really well, I can't fault him, he was lovely company and I felt very relaxed and at ease. But - and here comes the cliché - there just wasn't a spark. (We'll probably discuss the spark another day - I'm not even sure it exists.) I wasn't staring at his face, eager to get to the end of the date to kiss him, nor was I daydreaming about the next date. He was a really nice guy, and I could definitely have seen myself being friends with him, but there you go. What can you do? There just wasn't the physical attraction, and, no matter what anybody says, no matter how amazing someone is, if you don't fancy them, then there is probably no romantic future.

However, at the end of the date, he leant forward to kiss me, and I - taken by surprise, but also hoping maybe it would provide a breakthrough (I so wanted to like him) - kissed him back. I didn't pull away because I wanted to know, once and for all, if there was going to be a spark. Anything. But no, in fact, the opposite. I walked away feeling a little bit... grossed out. THAT'S not supposed to happen when you kiss someone, is it?! He wasn't a terrible kisser, it was just.. not right for me, at all.

Anyway, I relayed this to my long-suffering friends, and my housemate, in particular, came out with the p-bomb: "You're way too picky!"

ME? Picky?! What? I... didn't believe her at first. Surely not - I can't help it if I didn't feel anything for the guy! My gut was telling me he wasn't right for me, but I was so worried that maybe I am picky - god help me - that I listened to her convince me to go on a second date with him.

"You might learn to like him", she said. And then regaled me with the tale of her current boyf, who at first she didn't like that much at all but now is madly in love. Humph, I thought.

Anyway, I listened to her, grudgingly, and when he text me again asking me out, I agreed. At first, actually, he asked me if I wanted to go round his house for dinner - but that was super alarm bells. a) I had previously learned he still lived with his parents, but apparently he had a 'free house', hence the dinner b) nobody calls it a free house anymore, not since we were 15. c) We all know what he was after d) he lives proper out in the 'burbs of Greater London and frankly, I couldn't be arsed.

So we met for a drink again, in a pub this time, and again, the date was fine, but I just couldn't find it anywhere within me to like him romantically. I tried, honestly, but sometimes, things just don't work out. He walked me to the station and I quickly realised - quelle horreur - that he was going to kiss me again. I did not want to. BUT - you can't not kiss someone on the second date, if you've kissed them on the first date! Surely.

I admit it - I panicked. When he zeroed in for the kiss, I sort of pulled back, said something along the lines of "No... er.. sorry..." Or some such other nonsense. His face said it all - pure disbelief/pain/horror. Oh god. I said 'bye and ran away.

All the way home I felt sooo guilty - I should have just explained, listen, I really like you, but just as friends, that sort of thing. Not recoil in disgust and run away like a weirdo when he tried to kiss me.

I texted him a week later, after Easter, to see how he was etc, (was feeling a tad guilty) but no reply. I genuinely would have liked to keep him as a friend; I don't know a huge amount of people in London, and he was cool. Alas, he has never spoken to me again.

This kind of story seems to happen a lot to me - they seem to like me, I just don't feel anything back. Do you ever get things like that? How do you know how you feel? Are you scared you're a bit too picky for your own good? What if you'll never feel anything for anyone ever again?! (OR is that just me?)

And the moral of this story? Always trust your gut, and ignore friends who think you are picky. You are not picky. You just know what you want. Probably. Maybe.