When I last spoke to you dear people, I had just begun my foray into the uncertain world of dating. And with all the enthusiasm of a kid going through the autumn/winter Argos catalogue (I still get excited thinking about the possibility of getting a Mr Frosty for Christmas). Everyone was telling me to enjoy being single, to play the field, to make the most of my freedom. And the idea was exciting. At first. But what I didn't realise was that online dating is a bloody minefield, littered with liars, players and dick heads. And that, while some men can behave like prize twunts in real life, when hiding behind the safety of a screen they can really go to town on the dickheadedness.
Tinternet dating is not for the faint hearted. Or insecure. Or anyone who hates rejection. You're judged on your looks (I had a message from someone who said "You're way out of my league but can I speak to you on the phone so my personality shines through?". Bless.) and rejected on the basis of a big nose, bad haircut or a shit photo. I should know, I ignored people because their faces were a bit too long or they had Transformers posters on the wall behind them). That alone can be crushing enough. But when you've been chatting to someone who suddenly buggers off without a bye nor leave, or led right down the garden path by someone who paints themselves as Mr Perfect from Keensville when they're actually Mr Knobber from Bullshittown, it all becomes quite boring.
I did have date which was fun and with a really genuine guy. Who was weeks away from moving to the other end of the country. Really. But that was about as successful as it got. So, with one day left of my subscription I was quite happy to email my deets to the local nunnery and resign myself to a life of getting up at 4am to praise the Lord. And then I got a 'wink' ( a Match.com equivalent of a Facebook poke). I didn't intend to wink back. Honest guv. But something made me think "Fuck it, why not?". The wink turned into a message, the message turned into a phone number, which turned into a date for the next night. And the rest, as they say, is history.
I'm not the type to gush. But prepare yourselves for some serious gushing. *Those with a sensitive digestive system should look away now* I never really understood what all those sappy Instagram posts were about; what people meant when they said they'd 'just clicked' with someone. Until now. There actually is someone in existence who ticks all my boxes - who makes my stomach flip just thinking about him, who I fancy the absolute pants off, who makes me belly laugh because he's so daft, who I have a ridiculous amount in common with and who is literally the male version of me. And I'm 50 types of awesome which speaks volumes about how shit hot he is! I want to be with him allllll the time. There's nothing about him that makes me want to punch him; I can even tolerate eating with him without wanting to shove the plate up his arse and the cutlery up his nose. And that's never happened before, believe me.
We've spent every possible day together, talked about the future, met the kids - all the stuff which should be scary but has felt as natural as taking off your bra after a long day.
And to think I'd all but given up, that's what makes this all the more perfect. All those clichés about finding love when you stop looking for it, all that shit is actually true. And so I find myself in a permanent state of happiness, walking around with a daft grin on my face, waiting for texts like a lovesick teenager and looking forward to whatever comes. Which reminds me, I'd better email Sister Josephine of the Holy Order and let her know I've changed my mind..