Words: Anna Sampson Make-up and visuals: Nina Pezeshkian I didn’t fancy Mike. He wasn’t my type; for one he’s blonde and though he once had a rugby player-like charm back in the day, now looked shabby and slightly unwell. His best mate is called Reuben. Reuben was a boy who was so good looking whenContinue reading “You Asked For It”
Max came along and I thought he would be the perfect person.
By “came along” I mean we matched on Hinge. He looked kind of neanderthal like…gormless, also a bit like James Franco, but not enough to make me *catch feelings*. In the first five minutes we established two things.
1.) Screw lockdown! We wanted a cheeky kiss!
2.) What were we to do about it?
A long distance fling with a 40 year old crackhead, being savagely ghosted by a posh boy and being condemned for addressing a dwarf as a “midget”. No, this isn’t a game of would you rather, it was the state of my dating life. After a tub or two of Half Baked and Cookie Dough I felt bloated, pathetic and HSBC was on the blower telling me I had entered an “un arranged overdraft.” So I switched to smoking cigarettes and re downloaded Hinge. For the third time.
Things started off rough.
I was biting off more than I could chew- tossing likes around, (reaching the like limit) and not getting much back. Dudes liking me had answers on their profile such as “Probably won’t reply to U”, or “First round’s on me if you…just show up.” As I was about to delete the app again, I stopped in my tracks. There was a like from a director I was obsessed with. Drake’s “God’s Plan” never resonated with me more.
Needless to say I wasn’t killed in a satanic ritual. (read pt 2 here)
Instead, Black Hair and I were kissing on the stairwell outside his grandparent’s flat.
Each kiss left me dizzy and I was waiting for it to get boring but it never did, so I reached for his belt to unbuckle but he swatted me away.
At 6am, as I was leaving, he remarked:
“I have blue balls.”
On the Uber ride home I wondered if he was gay, or if he wanted to take things “slow” which is pretty much the same thing.
We’re on a cobbled, narrow street in the 6th arrondissement, and either he’s trying to race me, or lose me.
In any case, he looks like a fucking show off.
He finally clocks I’m not beside him and turns around, only to locate me four feet behind, wedged between a pram and a man with a walking stick.
This year was a pretty uneventful year in terms of men, which was great.
It meant that for the most part, I wasn’t complaining to my friends and constantly checking my phone for messages.
I did go on a date with a guy who was cute in a dishevelled way, who I had had a horrible crush on for three years.