Last week I went on a first date with a man I met on Tinder. Let’s call him… Alex.
In his profile pics, Alex looked cute. He’d written a witty bio (something a surprising number of men don’t even bother with) and we had a couple of shared interests (wine and the gym – nothing like a bit of balance, right?)
After exchanging messages for a few days, Alex asked to meet and I agreed. There was just one problem. When I arrived at the bar we’d chosen (a mutual favourite) I couldn’t see him. It took me a good minute to realise that the man waving to me from a corner table was in fact Alex.
This Alex was years older than his photos had led me to believe.
My enthusiasm deflated like a pricked balloon – a sensation undoubtedly familiar to anyone has ever used dating apps. I was pretty hacked off that he’d misrepresented himself to such a degree.
That said, a while ago I decided to date like I’m looking for a friend, not shopping for the best deal out there.
So I joined Alex at the table and we ordered some drinks.
We chatted, we laughed. Sadly, the physical attraction didn’t grow on my part but we had a pleasant enough evening and got on well. When we left the bar Alex offered to order me an Uber and wait with me until it arrived, but, spotting a vacant black cab trundling down the road, I gave him a quick hug goodbye and jumped inside. I thought taking charge of how I was getting home and not sticking around for a lingering goodbye would make my message clear: I’m just not that into you.
But the next day I received a text message.
“Hey Polly, had such a great night with you. I was thinking for our second date, we could go…”
He then mentioned a wine tasting event we had talked about.