So last night’s Tindertastrophe didn’t make me feel great about myself. If we had enjoyed at least a couple of drinks and over an hour of conversation, I could understand. Sometimes it’s just not for you. But to decide so quickly and come down with an illness so mysteriously. Well, it made me wonder. Was he put off by my fat arms? (I do have sausage arms.)
But also – sausage arms or no sausage arms – who does that? It’s like something out of a bad movie. He scampered off to the toilet about thirty minutes into the date and then emerged and declared that he felt desperately unwell and would have to go home. And then had the cheek to say, “See you soon!” when we parted ways. What kind of an individual does that? Did his mother teach him nothing?
Honestly, since the pizza of doom things have just been getting worse and worse. There was fit but flaky B. Then there was Irish Two with his total lack of emotion. Then Irish Three who didn’t feel a spark. Sunday’s Irish Four cancelled on me. And now apparently I possess the ability to repel men in record time. Go me.
It leads me to believe what I have feared for a while now: when you’re single in your thirties you are dealing with the Leftover Men.
Leftover Men. Ugh.
Nobody wants them. They are deficient in some way. For some, they are incapable of feeling anything or connecting to other human beings (like my dear friend Irish Two). Some set their standards too high. After being alone for so long it’s going to take someone really special to make them want a relationship. Some have no doubt been burned by heartless women who have made them into leftover shells of what could have been a perfectly good guy. And it’s not their fault. But it also doesn’t make them a charming or at the very least polite date.
So here I am. Aged 32. Surrounded by nothing but other people’s castoffs and the ones that nobody wanted in the first instance.
Bl**dy great.
And, no, no no no no no. I am not a Leftover Girl.
Something’s just gone horribly wrong somewhere. I guess I have to wait until the Non-Leftover Men start getting divorced. What a happy thought.
Pizza of Doom 
There are guys out there for you. You’re just experiencing all the wrong ones, so when the right one FINALLY emerges, there will be no room for error that he is who you’re supposed to be with.
Awww, thank you! I just have no idea where this guy might be. None at all.
Well. Wasn’t that a pricky thing to do. The least he could have done was just finish out the night and part ways. *sighs* There’s something wrong with all of these men. Maybe being single with a bedtime buddy is the way to go. You can’t get hurt that way.
I feel ya! I trust you’re not a Leftover Girl (and I would like to believe I’m not either). So you know what? That gives me hope. Because if there are single ladies as great as us out there, there have to be equally fantastic men, right? Whenever I’d run into dating troubles, my mom would remark “Now, Kelly, there’s a reason why he’s 40 and single” and I would respond, “yeah, well what about me!?” haha enjoy the ride, lady.
It’s hard not to feel like leftovers sometimes! And sometimes a bit like you’ve been chewed up and spat out. Sigh.
But you’re right. If we’re single, there just have to be some normal single men out there. Paws crossed!
Oh bless, maybe he had the most awful diahorrea! You will not be a leftover girl. Have faith, beautiful x
I stopped using tinder a few weeks ago… too many douches for my liking lol. My coworker showed me cliqie.com and I’m a big fan of that over the others in terms of actually meeting people vs. just entertainment. It has a different approach that feels less sketchy cause you and your friends essentially act as “wingmen”. I like that it helps you find things to do too. Skout’s okay too, but still has it’s fair share of creepers
Maybe he was genuinely ill? I know you’re probably right in your assumptions, but a small part of me still wants to cling to the notion that most people are good, genuine and honest!
Your post reminded me of an episode of Sex And The City, when a man does the same to Miranda. So she blurts out, “It’s ok, I get it, you’re just not that into me!”
To which he replies: “Erm, no, it’s not that, actually… I have diahorrea.”
So, maybe he just had diahorrea and was too embarrassed to say?!
Either way, I know one thing was for certain: it was NOT about your arms.
Good luck x
Ha ha – I remember that episode! Yeah, I wondered if he was really ill. But you would text after, or at least be apologetic, right?
I’ll just wear sleeves from now on!
x