You know I said….

…. a couple of weeks ago over at Twittersville, “I just fell in love”? Yeah, well – I already lost my erection.

I was finishing up the latest batch of four Tinder contacts (romantic I know, but years of singledom and dating’ll do that to a woman), when I met with a man from out of town. Let’s call him Hottie McHotface. A year older than me, a foot taller and devastingly handsome, in that Charles Manson murdery, brooding kind of way (*what is wrong with me!?). A mature model amongst a few other things, I enjoyed his company for a couple of hours on a Friday afternoon over only my third glass of red wine since June. ^insert polite nodding and a smattering of light applause here^. He of course doesn’t resemble Manson, much, that’s just for comedic effect – but his stock in trade was very much enigmatic broodiness.

Interesting, the little he shared with me, relaxed chat, a little kiss and BOOM! – the touch paper was lit. Chemistry. That kind of reaction in me hasn’t happened since approximately 1876, so I was a bit blown away by it, as you can probably imagine. I honestly thought I was just full of dust and spiders. I decided to walk home to enjoy the moment, and not let myself get bogged down by the dark cloud that swoops in with the knowledge that it will inevitably be a disappointment. I chatted to people, laughed at – with – (with, Pank, with) children on their scooters and appreciated the festive atmosphere…….

So here we are two weeks later, with a WhatsApp chat as long as your freaking two arms, full of heart eyes and kissy lips and little else. Do me a favour, mate. Oh, and the patter! The patter is smooooth, don’t get me wrong. While I was in Portugal and not in contact much, I received a delightfully animated message saying ‘hurry back, I can’t wait to see you again.’ Apparently, I ‘enchant‘ him and am ‘so beautiful‘……… In the words of Phoebe Buffay, ‘well, yeah‘. Then a return to ‘Bon dia ^insert heart eyes here.’^ and not much else. When we finally got down to chatting about meeting again, he started to hint at sexy time. Being very careful not to actually say, ‘so, is sexy time on the cards or what, Pank?’ Now, I’m almost certain that as attractive as he is, he is very much used to simply flashing one of his intense, modelly scowls and women’s knickers literally explode off their undercarriages. And that there are limp, lifeless bodies scattered all over the bloody place that have swooned themselves half to death – but me, well I need a little more than a handsome face, two hours of your time and more emojis than my fifteen year old niece uses. That my friend, is not seduction. I refer you, lovely readers, once again back to my earlier post – the delightful French boy.

So, with a slowly fading hope that HMcHF will get his shit together and organise another date any time soon, and all my current dates done and dusted – I look forward to the festive season, with him on the back burner….. you just never know. I suppose.

*makes note to speak to therapist about this. No, really.

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