A queue of Colins...
Sex, lies and - well. Whatever you'd call these people I guess?
It’s that time again, by which I do mean the time we weep for the future of the human race. That’s right! Time to mine the depths of my online dating profile messages. Let us FEAST OUR EYES upon how members of the opposite sex think is how to treat an internet stranger-lady they might want to date and/or bone. Who are we kidding – most of these are just looking to plain bone. Which, for reasons which will become appalling apparent, is just not going to happen anywhere near my alive OR DEAD body, not this side of the apocalypse at least.
First up we have Mo. It starts off innocuous enough. How is my day going? Delightful thank you! Then rapidly veers into territory where a lesser woman may question whether this is actually meant as a compliment, or perhaps something more insulting. Implied tone is everything eh:
Now listen. There’s plenty of pictures of me on the internet where a casual bystander could legitimately question whether I think I’m on the same planet as everyone else. Mostly these pictures involve me being in various states of unprofessional drunkenness and/or sequinned outfits, and once, memorably, kneeling in the street at 4am dressed as Leeloo Dallas from the film The Fifth Element whilst being knighted with a fake sword by several strangers dressed as the knights of the round table. Undignified, yes. Astonishing? Well, less so for those that know me, but at a push, also yes. But the pictures I’ve carefully selected to present the best impression of myself to the country’s horniest selection of balding truck drivers on match.com? Less so.
So, thank you Mo, but not today. Onwards. To... this guy, who seems to think that my being 44 is probably ‘old’ enough to be swayed by the promise of enough youthful vigour to actually keep it up, and that this might in some way be sufficient to look past his actual face:
Am I actually ‘thriving’ though Darren? At 44? On a dating site?? Times may be hard, Darren, but – not that hard. Not yet, at least. Don’t get me wrong, I am beginning to consider taking a new friend’s advice and dropping all my filters so as not to miss out on what she assures me is the god-like bodies of men under thirty. But I don’t even live anywhere near London! So it’s goodbye to Darren.
And here we’re going to take a segue away from an online dating app to Instagram, proving that no matter how hard times do actually get for me, there will reliably ALWAYS be some perv popping up in your DMs to ask you questions like this for my supposed financial gain:
Christ alive.
By sweet contrast, there’s Matt next. Ah Matt. He’s really trying here. He’s probably been agonising over quite how to phrase this incredibly personal, relevant and insightful compliment to me for days now:
Why so many questions? Why so scantly accurate punctuation? He’s omitted a question mark after his actual question, but put three after the punchline giving the whole thing an air of godawful uncertainty, a bit like how youtubers speak??? It takes EVERYTHING I HAVE not to reply immediately to school him on the correct use of you’re/your and when to insert an apostrophe because I can’t be fucking an internet stranger without even the most rudimentary grasp of basic grammar now can I? I should probably add this to my bio. Will judge the shit out of your copy. It couldn’t possibly lower the standards of applicants could it. On which note, I present, Raul:
Novel approach here. Having found me unresponsive to his kind offer of ‘fresh coffee’ on a Thursday, he’s simply…tried again. On Wednesday. And then…again… on Sunday. As my friend JD charitably pointed out, perhaps I’m the problem here. Maybe I SHOULD try coffee on a Wednesday!! What would happen if he just persisted long enough to find the one day of seven I’d be receptive to the slightly predatory offer of a hot beverage and, presumably, chlamydia? As I pointed out to JD, given the calibre of potential romantic partners here, I’d actually take a casual hookup on any given day of the week if only that person could string a sentence together and observe the absolute basics of social niceties and good manners but it seems even that is a bit of a reach for most.
Not sure what our next caller was hoping to find. Clearly I’ve already been an enormous disappointment:
What?! Sorry how? Sorry, why?! Sorry because it wasted precious minutes of his life? Sorry because he shouldn’t have looked? WHAT DID HE DO WHILE HE WAS VIEWING MY PROFILE TO WARRANT BEING SORRY??????
The answers to these questions should probably never be spoken out loud without holy water present, so onwards to our next man who is called Colin, and who in direct contrast to some other Colins I know seems EXTREMELY KEEN to solicit my good attentions by text. How many texts is too many? Who cares!! Send them all!! Machine gun style!!!
Other Colins, take note. Maybe one day I will have experienced the full spectrum of Colin-based charm, ranging from this pneumatic stranger text-pesting right through to being finger-banged in a regency carriage followed by a breathless proposal of marriage. (Spoiler alert: Colin Bridgerton - still hot!) Is there a perfect Colin, somewhere between these two extremes? A nice, normal one perhaps. It’s all relative right?
Next up Andy, who seems to have me confused with Google:
And finally, because honestly, just typing all this shit out is making me want to hurl myself into the yawning arms of death, it seems that on the internet, you can dispense with even the remotest pretence that a woman might just be an entirely independent human with dreams, hopes and ambitions of her own and just cut straight to the chase of asking whether she might cater to your very specific sexual preferences, like some kind of mail order sex doll. No ‘hello’. No introductions. Just:
Fuuuuuucking hell.
(*Joke’s on him - I’ve never ONCE done a single thing that anyone asked me to, even in a work-based capacity; Hi Lindsay, could you jus- NO. Absolutely not. How DARE you. I’d rather die. What do you mean, it’s my ‘actual job?’ No. Etc.)
So, despite all the above I am pleased to report that I have been on a few actually quite pleasant dates now with people who weren’t (or at least didn’t appear to be) complete sociopaths. Granted, one guy turned out to live in a caravan; this same man who then ghosted me after date two (GHOSTED BY A MAN WHO LIVES IN A FIELD, truly I must have angered god in a past life) but hey. We live, we learn. I mean, perhaps what I should have learned is not to chance someone a second date after they disclose that they’re living in a caravan, however ‘temporary’ they might try to claim this is, but again - this is all quite new to me. With hindsight, the warning bells did go off when he told me about his sister (his S I S T E R) and her bareknuckle boxing match later that evening, but again - there’s just no knowing, is there?
What I’m learning is that no matter how bad things may seem, or how short-lived the things which seem good might be before you get ghosted, there is perverse comfort in the fact that there seems to be a queue of other Colins and Rauls waiting in the internet wings to ambush you with messages which terrify you into celibacy. Consider this a warning.
Arcane Bullshit, as ever, says it best. Stick to what you know. Now: I’m off to repeatedly circle the word ‘bonus’…
What’s that you say?
Sex, you say? People called Colin, you say?? Well, with this in mind, I very much enjoyed:
The latest series of Bridgerton, even if it stopped rather abruptly at just 4 episodes. My short review: the plots are becoming a bit formulaic now, but there’s still some good shagging and nice outfits to look at. And Colin Bridgerton is JUST SO PRETTY.
Colin From Accounts was the funniest thing I watched on tv recently. And so I was WILDLY EXCITED to watch the trailer for season 2. Get after it.
I enjoyed contemplating what it would be like if one night stands were a sport…
Torn between love and absolute outrage that David Nicholls (author of the fantastically adapted for TV’s One Day) has written a new book set entirely around two people on the coast to coast walk route. It’s basically the book I tried to write, except - well. Mine was memoir not fiction, and I’m not QUITE as talented as literary giant David Nicholls. And I didn’t get anywhere with my proposal and gave up probably too soon. But still. It’s bringing up all kinds of memories of when I did the walk, and how that made me feel. Order his book here.
On a more serious note, someone sent me this video a while ago, and I think for anyone struggling with (*waves vaguely at all of the horrors above) then it is some of the sagest advice I have ever heard. It’s quite long, but well worth a listen in a quiet moment. Let them. Just - let them.
Until next time, comrades…
Lindsay x
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My god
Bloody hell!!! At least they’ve given you some writing inspo 😂😂