December-ageddon – why this is the worst month for dating
Lucky streaks are defined by darker times and my chips ran out last week. In a casino, ironically, where I saw a guy I had just met winning £ 800 on a roulette table. We had both just come from a busy bachelorette party in the Inner Circle: I had been invited out, but by the DJ, who also asked my best mate Sam the same. “Why do men think- do they think their friends wouldn’t get away with it? I asked Sam when the DJ got fired by both of us.
In fact, the house of cards I had assembled was on the verge of collapsing completely. Everyone started to cancel. The pea farmer couldn’t show me his crop because he was throwing up tequila from last night. The Deviant From Feeld confessed whose car was stolen halfway through our last canceled date because he had to go to CrossFit. To be fair, his profile said he was a “CrossFit wanker,” even though I had chosen to assume it was a joke; it turns out the joke was on me. Meanwhile, the ethical non-monogamist (ENM) was engaged in his other life (a family). Even the teacher who called me “good girl” halfway through the date was not feeling well. Spiritually, he said.
It all reminded me of why we’re all so frustrated with dating: You can go from half a dozen leads to zero in a week. Trying to fix the problem with the same drug, I came back to Feeld and met an actor who wanted to go for a drink and then immediately had a glandular fever. Cursed week, I thought, forgetting that it is now December and everyone has hangovers and hangovers.
Now it’s december-ageddon and everyone has hangovers and hangovers
Yet I was not a ghost: they all needed a therapist. After getting canceled by everyone, the next day they all refunded the emotional support that I had forgotten is an integral part of modern dating. The pea farmer went to a hunting ball and needed a hug: his sister was gone with her mate and he didn’t want the relationship to go anywhere. ENM had forgotten the cherries for an elaborate rice dish and was noticing the voice of the stove, and CrossFit was bruising from some sort of bar weight nightmare. “Good Girl” still worried about her soul. “I only broke up with my ex very recently,” worried the feverish actor. Believe it, I thought to myself, texting encouraging. I would have become a therapist.
I replied on Feeld to a pianist. He’ll cancel, I thought, leaving the house with dirty Docs, my mother’s sweater, and a pom pom beanie. But he did not do it. “Are you not really a professional pianist?” ” I asked. If that sounds unfair, I have already been paired with a tobogganist because I read it as a tobogganist and thought I would get cheap cigarettes; when i asked him if he was joking he replied that he was part of the gb team. As it turned out, the pianist wasn’t kidding either.
I guess on those frigid winter nights when you’re already shattered by the pre-Christmas carnage, it’s tempting to call off first dates. But there is jewelry to be found when you don’t. The pianist wants to take me to a lido with whirlpools. “Do you think wetsuits are ever sexy? I asked Sam.