There’s been a lot uneventful experiences in my world of online dating: a “like” here, a “like” and no “like” back there (this one is very popular at the moment). But there was one incident worth writing about. I call him Cray Cray. I’m not sure if that’s his birth name, but for purposes of anonymity and the fact that I don’t know what his real name is, he, from here on end, will be Cray Cray. So let me set the scene –
It’s midnight. I’m lying on the couch and full from some very average pasta I’ve cooked. I think I got a bit experimental with supermarket anchovies and some left over herbs. Penne al Hardtoswallow. I spilt most of it down the front of my shirt anyway. My gross motor skills must play some serious part in how skinny I am. I just can’t get the damn food to my mouth! But I digress.
I’m in front of the tv watching something very intellectual like Teen Mom., and before you get all pernickety at the spelling of “Mom” that’s how it’s written – it’s an American show. So my phone does that weird, alien “whaow” as I receive an email. I’m in another time zone so I assume it’s an Aussie email. It’s not. It’s from the online dating site that has stolen a month’s worth of British Sterling from me.
I open it. And it’s a message. Not just a “like”, a message. Well, I must be *pretty* impressive to skip the first step. The first line is short. Casual. Relaxed. I’m looking at it on my phone and I’m groggy because it’s late and something to do with carbs.
So I click on the link and open his profile. I can’t really make out his picture because of the size of the screen. Because I’m lying on my back, I drop the phone into my eyesocket. I swear at the phone, as if it’s done it on purpose then look at this guy’s picture again, only this time squinting, and holding it at a distance, like a pissed person trying to drive home. This happens approximately every 3-4 hours of my life, but most often when I wake up. I should rename it: iSocket.
I reckon I’ll worry about the response in the morning. I don’t want to start something sexy, and anyway, I’ve got a black eye to nurse.
Cut to: half an hour later. There’s another “whaow.” It’s him. Again. Uh-oh.
At this point it’s probably important to tell you that on this website you can see if someone has opened a message you’ve sent, when they were last online and if you look close enough, whether they’re a double fan of lobster. By which I mean, Cray Cray. I clearly didn’t have my Lobster goggles on so I overlooked the fact that this guy was about to get Greek tragedy on me.
I could only read the opening line within the context of the email, which read:
wow so you find me not good looking enough to respond.
As if I’m going to leave that hanging. I opened the message and it continued:
Didnt think youd be like that but i guess i was wrong
Whoah. Whoah. Whoah. Everyone calm the fuck down!
Now I have preserved that to read exactly as it did on the page and you will know what blew me away the most about those two lines. You guessed it– NO GODDAMNED PUNCTUATION OR ENOUGH CAPITALS! Come on, guys. Basics. Don’t get me started on the structure of that first sentence. It’s like a half inverted double negative. In diving terms that’s a 6.3 degree of difficulty, resulting in a bellyflop.
A very close friend gave me some excellent advice – never have an argument after midnight; it can always wait until the morning. In fairness, this was very one sided, like I’d just walked into a crying family’s house and they all turned to me and yelled, “How could you?” after just having taken the bins out. So I thought, “Don’t get into this now.”
In the morning, I gave the courtesy of reply –
Hello. You sent your message after midnight. I was going to sleep and I didn’t think it appropriate to start a conversation then. Now I don’t think we should continue one.
No hard feelings, but please don’t contact me again.
Clear. To the point. I thought he may have woken up under shame blanket, so I didn’t go to town. Let’s get on with our day- BUT WAIT! 5 minutes later, yup, “Whoaw.” Email. It’s Bette Middler’s character from Beaches Cray Cray Bloom.
yeah right. you are a rude shallow person. you managed to read my message and look at my pics at such a late hour.
Hiow rude to judge only on looks and then be rude and lie about it
I think you missed out a line mate: “You always do this!” *Runs into the bathroom and slams the door*
I mean, I genuinely don’t know how this got to fever-bitch so quickly. Moreso, how did he get an ‘i’ into the word ‘how’? That takes innovation. I suppose when you’re rage typing, just hate-fucking that keyboard with your tips, it’s hard to stay focused on one vowel at a time.
So as you can imagine, I blocked him. I don’t know if he can ‘see’ that on my profile, or hiow that eventuates. (Easy when you try!)
I should add here, this will not be a common thing- writing about specific interactions that I have with people, that is. I felt compelled to write about this particular guy because it seemed so extreme and completely out of line. I do respect the privacy of 99.99999% of the people I interact with. Hopefully this is such an isolated occurrence that the next update will be the “Man, dating is boring and arduous and I’m considering a Nunnery.”
Until next time gumboots, Ward Out.
YOU CAN TOTALLY SEE ME LIVE AT THE EDINBURGH FRINGE FESTIVAL 2013. I MAY HAVE HAD A DATE BY THEN. BUT, LET’S FACE IT PROBABLY NOT.
FELICITY WARD. IRREGARDLESS
10PM – DAIRY ROOM (UP NEAR THE PURPLE COW, OFF BRISTO SQUARE)