When I first started the whole internet dating malarkey this time around, I thought ‘I might be a little closer to 30 than 20 these days, but fuck it, I can still hang with young ‘uns‘.
Staunchly ignoring the fact that I call 20-25 year olds ‘young ‘uns’ in my mental dialogue, I truly believed that to be the case.
So very, alarmingly wrong.
My first date was with a whippsersnapper of 23. He was gainfully employed, had a degree, we had a good banter over t’internet so I had no reservations meeting up with him for a date.
To be fair, it wasn’t exactly a horror story. At first anyway…the real horror here is suddenly realising, fuck. I’ve gotten old. How the fuck did that happen? When the fuck did that happen?! I was truly and utterly convinced my mental age was 23 and here, on this date, the catatonic coma inducing realisation that actually, no, I do not have the mental age of a 23 year old.
Thankfully, apparently I still look like a 23 year old….sometimes. I thank the people who ID me for fags these days. (It’s dawned on me that is NOT how a 23 year old behaves when being IDed. Next time I might pretend I’ve left my driving license at home and skulk off with an exasperated Kevin-like flair. I hope there’s a next time anyway…)
The kid was nice enough I suppose, but he was a puppy. Overly enthusiastic, pawing for reassurance and basically just trying to impress too much.
I’m not the most confident of people, but as I’ve apparently matured (sob!), I’ve grown into myself. I pretty much know who I am, know what I like and know that I definitely can’t be arsed wasting time with people who I don’t like or who don’t like me so I’m pretty much myself, or at least a Good, Clean Version thereof. I don’t consciously set out to impress, and honestly, I think that’s an attractive quality. It’s a quality I like to see in the men I date at any rate.
I wasn’t entirely put off though. Apparently I’m quite a hit with the young lads, especially 23 year olds (about 4 different 23 year olds contacted me! Get me and my fiiiiine self!) so I thought it would be best to just make sure the younger option was not entirely full of puppies.
The second one appeared more mature on the surface but there were some glaring indicators of inexperience. We met for ‘coffee’, not particularly wanting to be stuck on a night out with another immature youngster. When I bought my own drink, and the chocolate brownie we shared (no offer to even split the cost of the brownie), conversation was incredibly stunted. I had to work my arse off to try and find something he would talk about. He asked no questions leaving the conversation ball entirely in my court. Sigh. I left after an hour, but the level of conversation we did have was ‘mature’ and somewhat intellectual…by my gauge anyway, probably not by the majority of others’, ha!
After our date I was considering going on another date with the guy, until…well, until he started clumsily and overtly flirting with me, before I even confirmed I wanted to see him again. Honestly, it felt a bit uncomfortable – I don’t remember exactly what was said, but it started off with nice compliments which I appreciated but essentially brushed off, and they became more and more sexual without indication that I would be interested in anything of the sort.
I gave up on that guy and added Rule 6 to My Internet Dating Survival Guide: Don’t date boys under 25 years old. They don’t have a clue how to handle me.