He spent the start of our date complaining about his ex: “She never loved me, she just saw me as a sperm donor!”.
He also spent the middle part of our date complaining about her “I love my daughter, even though my ex just sees me as the man who donated the sperm to make her!”.
By the end of the date: “My ex is a heartless cow! I’m just a sperm donor to her!”, I was wearing a rictus grin & contemplating stabbing myself to death with a spoon.
I kept a tally of how many times he used the phrase “sperm donor”. Nine times. That’s nine times too many.
Text received after first date: “I’m sat here in my blue underpants, contemplating whether to abuse myself or not”.
In fairness, English wasn’t his first language. But still, it remains the least erotic text I’ve ever received ever ever ever.
We were in a restaurant. I put the menu on the table in front of me, and leaned forward to read it. As I did so, I rested my hands on my elbows.
Him: “You’ve crossed your arms. You must be feeling uncomfortable”.
Me: “I’m fine. I’m just reading the menu.”.
Him: “But you wouldn’t cross your arms unless you were feeling uncomfortable. I’ve studied body language. Everything you do means something.”
Me: “Yes, it means that it’s comfy for me to have my arms like this, while I’m reading the menu”.
Him: “But you wouldn’t have done it unless you were feeling uncomfortable”.
Me: “I’m fine, really”.
Him: “Are you feeling uncomfortable?”
Me: “Now I am”.
He continued to comment on my body language and facial expressions (despite me repeatedly asking him not to) until I ended the date, forty minutes after it started.
“The thing is, I’ve got a girlfriend. But you live quite close to my parents. Maybe, whenever I’m visiting them, we could, you know, casually hook up?”
We’d been seeing each other for a while. One morning I awoke to find two texts from him.
The first – sent the previous night – said how beautiful I was, and how much he loved me. I was thrilled to read it.
Then I read the second text, which had been sent a few hours after the first. It explained that he sometimes sent texts in his sleep, and that if I’d received any other texts from him recently, I should ignore them.
“You’re very intelligent, aren’t you? I don’t like to date intelligent women. I find it intimidating.”
“OOOOOOOH, you’ve got lovely big feet, haven’t you? I give a really good foot massage. Some women have got really small feet. I bet I could give yours a really good rub”.
This, on a first date. Half an hour into a first date. Bit much.
“You’re a woman, so how do you know so much about music? Then again, you’re not really a girly girl, are you? You’re more into the things that the blokes are. I bet you’re still into hair and handbags though.”
I have a variety of interests, including music. I don’t really see music as being something specifically male or female, but then again, I don’t think interests should really be classed by gender. I’m not hugely into hair or handbags, for the record, but so what if I was?
Another internet date. He emailed me several times beforehand to say how nervous he was. And then the date rolled around:
Me: “Hi, nice to meet you finally. How are you?”
Him: “Still really nervous. This is the first date I’ve been on in twenty years”.
Me: “Well, no worries, we’ve all got to get back in the dating game at some point. When did you and your wife split up?”
Him: “Last month.”
Me: “Oh. Really? Er, OK, but isn’t that a bit soon to be dating, maybe?”
Him: “Well, why not? You never know when you might meet the love of your life! It could be you!”
IT WASN’T ME.
We’d been seeing each other for a while, but he kept telling me that he wasn’t ready for a proper relationship. Then he sent me an email explaining that he really liked me but had some concerns. Helpfully, he included them as a list.
Concern number 7 was “You’re allergic to cats, and I hope to own a cat someday”.
We found each other on the internet; we both loved music and started chatting. After a few emails, he suggested a drink.
I was on time. I’m always on time. He was late.
He finally arrived, sweaty and unapologetic, and said he had to tell me something:
“You know, I’ve never been on a date with someone with kids before. I always knock back the single mothers straight away, I’m not into them, I’ve no interest in kids, I don’t even like them. But your picture was really nice so I thought I’d make an exception for you.”
Ah! The Date-Killer Klaxon; I’m on a date with King Herod.
Yes, I’m a single mum. I come as a package with two kids; I’m not looking for a new dad for them (they have their own perfectly good father already), but whoever I’m with has got to get on with them. It’s never going to work with someone who openly admits that he doesn’t like children.
I’m still not sure why he thought that line was a compliment in any shape or form.