Being told I was too fussy
“You’re going to have to stop being so fussy” was the advice I was given by a friend.
Fussy.
Is it fussy though?
I had things I liked and things I didn’t. Doesn’t everyone?
Yes, some of those things were stupid. I didn’t like boys who drank feminine drinks, and I still can’t fully explain why it made me cringe. I didn’t mind my guy mates ordering them. It didn’t make them any less manly. I just didn’t want potentials doing it.
I know. I was ridiculous.
I think it was because I drank beer. Imagine me ordering a pint of lager and him ordering a fruity cider. It would have been weird.
Wanting fireworks, not comfort
I didn’t think I was fussy. I just didn’t want to settle for anything less than fireworks. I couldn’t do casual dating and hope feelings would grow. It never worked like that for me.
For a long time, I thought this was where I kept going wrong.
Looking back now, I don’t think it was.
With my ex, my perfect ex, I saw him and I knew. I can’t describe what happened. I just knew.
He walked into the pub where I worked, I saw him, and something clicked instantly. There was no build-up, no convincing myself, no waiting for attraction to develop. It was immediate.
He drank pink cider, which I hated, and I very quickly informed him of that. I haven’t seen him order one since, and at time of writing, I’d known him for over five years.
Because I’d felt that kind of certainty once, I wasn’t willing to pretend I could manufacture it again. It wasn’t about chasing drama or intensity. It was about recognising the difference between comfort and connection.
I wasn’t waiting for perfection. I was waiting for something that felt right.
Why dating apps never stood a chance
This was why Tinder and every other dating app or site, never felt like they would work for me.
I wasn’t going to get that feeling from a slurring drunk guy, or from a picture of someone on a lads’ holiday with a tranquillised tiger in Thailand, or from the fact that we both liked the Facebook page of Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson.
No chance of it. However good-looking he might’ve been.
That said, anyone who knows me knows I don’t learn the first time. Or the second. Or even the third around.
God loves a trier, right?
Trying Tinder anyway
So yes, that’s right. I tried Tinder.
I downloaded the app and gave it a go, because “ya never know.”
You do know, but “ya never know”.
For every 100 guys, I swiped right about 0.5 times. It wasn’t exactly an eventful evening, but it kept me busy.
That’s when I stumbled upon Jack*.
He was 26, had a good job, was good-looking, and I thought, fine, I’ll give this one a go.
Messages went back and forth and he was lovely. His grammar was on point. He’d been to loads of interesting countries and had lived in different places. Overall, he was quite appealing, dare I say, maybe even, nice?
He had a picture with an espresso martini, but like my friend said, I needed to be less fussy.
When WHATball entered the chat
A couple of days into our conversation, I mentioned football.
As a keen football fan, it was important to me to meet someone with a similar interest. At a push, they could be more rugby enthusiastic. But if I were building the ideal guy in a factory, he would support a Premier League team. Not Man United or Everton, again with the fussiness. And I wouldn’t have to explain the offside rule.
As there had been no mention of football in the first couple of days, I was already a bit concerned.
Regardless, I brought it up.
He had no interest. None whatsoever. Nada. Zilch. Zero.
Not only that, he referred to it as, wait for it, SPORTSBALL.
Knowing when something isn’t for you
It’s one thing not liking something. It’s another thing entirely to mock it.
I could possibly have seen past his lack of football interest if he’d been lovely enough to win me over in other ways. I wasn’t just a beer-drinking football hooligan. I liked art and travelling. I even watched Wimbledon, and that’s a strawberry-eating and Pimms-drinking sport. I worked in rugby pubs in Twickenham for many a year, so I was quite familiar and interested in that too.
But no.
To mock something that was such a big part of my life, something that took a lot of my money and occupied most of my weekends, that just wasn’t going to work for me.
If that made me fussy, then so be it.
I’d die alone watching the game with my cats (fast-forward to now, I actually have two cats and I still watch my precious team every chance I get).
Exiting quietly
I swiftly exited the conversation with no response or explanation.
If he was going to be a smart arse, he could figure it out for himself where I’d gone.
Down the pub, to watch the match.
Tinder. Out.
Until the next time I convinced myself that “ya never know”.
The Singles Era 
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