John of the Moors – part 1

My first online victim was John of the Moors. We’ll call him like this because he was a country boy at heart, and also worked in conservation.

After lots of ruminating, I had finally managed to compose a decent profile, put it up, and pay a 6-month membership on a well-known dating site. I decided to go for a paid one as it somehow felt more reliable. Whether that’s true or not, I never discovered!

John of the Moors’ email was the very first ‘normal’ message I received. By normal I mean that it had clearly been written especially for me, with all due respect for spelling, punctuation and the like (extra points – I can't stand ppl who overdo it wiv txt speech). It was relevant, mentioned his love for all things Italian and also intelligent, without being pushy or boasting. His profile was along the same lines: one picture, albeit blurry, in which he looked pleasant enough, interesting but random information about himself, polite and gentlemanly, and local as well. Bingo!

I sent a very well-thought out reply the day after, and that started our email exchange – a few per week. This went on for about 2-3 weeks, with no mention ever of meeting up. I didn’t want to be the one who made a move – that’s the man’s job, if you ask me. He seemed shy and hinted to it a couple of times, but never really proposed anything. I was starting to lose hope.

Finally, after about a month of chatting, he mustered the courage and asked me out. We met up on a Sunday and decided we’d go to a nearby National Trust place for a walk and a bite to eat. I was very excited and extremely nervous.

I walked to our meeting point and stopped briefly before getting there to check myself in a pocket mirror – you know, ensure I had no black bits/lipstick on my teeth, smudged make-up, the usual. My heart was pounding. Then I turned the corner and I saw him.

Uhm.

Now, why do some men feel the need to lie about their height? You’re hardly going to be able to disguise it when we meet in the flesh, are you? I’m 5.8, maybe a smidgen taller. His profile said 5.11. Really? Wouldn’t that mean that if we’re both wearing trainers - which we were – you should be about 3 inches taller than me? It’s not rocket science. Even a numpty like me gets it. So I can’t really explain how come he was about the same height as me, including the spiky hair.

As you can tell, it didn’t start off very well. I like tall guys, but I also like honest guys. Not a smart move.

Anyway, we got in his car and off we went. Quick side note: I did think it might be a bit off to get in a complete stranger’s car. But somehow it felt like I knew him, it was the middle of the day and we were surrounded by people and tourists. I tend to trust my gut instinct on this stuff.

We started chit-chatting and I immediately noticed a problem: where was the volume? This guy was speaking so quietly I could barely tell he was talking at all. I had to ask him to repeat every other sentence. Ok, I’m foreign, but this was nothing to do with his accent or my understanding of it... I needed more volume! Things got better when we got out of the car. Maybe it was just a severe case of noisy engine?

Our walk was pleasant, as was our lunch break. He was very polite, attentive, intelligent and stared at me with big adoring eyes for the whole time. A bit intimidating. I’m all for eye contact, but I could sense this guy looking at me also when I was not looking at him, while we were not talking or we were tucking into our food instead. I felt a bit scrutinised. Maybe I had something in my teeth?

After a lot of staring, we returned to the car and drove back to the city. He wanted to drive me home but I didn’t really want him to see where I lived. So I asked him to drop me somewhere in town. We kissed on the cheeks (awkward) and out I went.

On a 1-10 scale? Probably 6. Not terrible, but it could have been a lot better. While I was strolling through town, I started composing in my head the text I would be sending later that evening or the day after. "Although I had a lovely day and I felt like we had a few things in common, I don’t think there was a connection blah di blah”. Then I stopped and mentally kicked myself.

I suddenly remembered that, just before the awkward cheeks-kissing, I had agreed to go on another date with him. You see, I was in a real rush to get out of that car. And I’m such a people-pleaser. That seemed like the easy way out. I had a clear image of myself smiling sweetly and saying ‘sure’ after he had said ‘maybe we can do this again’.

Oh bummer.