The One with the Poem. – Tinder

Did anyone ever write poetry for class or homework in primary school and write about a cool thing they saw their dog do, or what they saw on Lizzie McGuire the week before? Because same. My standards for, and understanding of, poetry have always been a bit flimsy- if not non-existent. I appreciate sonnets, I really enjoy Sylvia Plath, and occasionally I’ll laugh at a dirty limerick. But that’s really it. I instead prefer other outlets. I journal for therapy, I obviously write a blog about bad dates (hello) and sometimes as a teenager I dabbled in creative writing for school work. I always enjoyed English and Literature subjects at high school as I love reading and discussing books and themes, motifs and symbolism were always so interesting to me. To summarise, I enjoy language but don’t especially enjoy poetry.
Enter a well intentioned student studying English and Creative Writing. He was sweet enough, probably not on a soul mate level and definitely not what I’d consider to be my “type” (if you can really say you have one.) But this was one who fell hard and fast, and had never had a girlfriend before so was eager to impress me. In his attempts, though, he showed some fatal character flaws that pushed me away.
I can’t tell if it was the constant drinking and the drunk messaging, the way he decided to go gambling every so often with friends but would then get stressed about money (don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against a casual game of cards, but when you turn around and start complaining about money and your lack there of, we’ll have issues.) but there were a lot of things that really pushed me into not liking this boy, and it didn’t end in a way that I’m proud of…
I like to think I’m a fairly straightforward person, though patient is certainly not a way my friends or family would describe me. If you complain about money, cut back on expenses where possible, get a job (buy your own shit, and stay out of the forest), get a room mate to lower your personal expenses, even consider a budget to keep on top of everything. If you have problems with alcohol and how you behave when you drink, cut back. I am not shy about telling people to pull their head out when it is absolutely necessary, and sometimes my “nice” approach is too similar to being a push over. I don’t want to offend, but I also have a low tolerance for bullshit (but there will be more on this later.) So when he exhibited the above behaviours, cried one day when I was stressed and upset about something not related to him at all, and then got his FRIENDS to message me to ask if things were ok with “us” (what is this, high school?!) my patience for him wore thin, leading to a final showdown via Facebook. But not before the aforementioned poem…

‘Twas the morning of the Eurovision Grand Final 2016 and I was at a girlfriend’s house to watch the action unfold live. It was 4am and I was wiped out, mentally writing off the rest of my day in order to recover and not be a complete wreck the rest of the week. At around 8am, the boy (let’s call him Ross) messages me asking how my day’s been and “if I liked it.” What? I thought, Of course I liked my day, it’s 8am and I’m awake watching Europe showcase their finest, most cringey performers against the stunning backdrop of Sweden, what’s not to love!
But then later in the day, when the girls and I had decided it was time to make breakfast, Ross messaged me again and asked “if I’d seen it yet.” Seriously? Did we not cover this a few hours ago, yes I’ve seen it, it was controversial! Ukraine!! The conversation went in my head. I ignored his message, ate my pancakes and made the journey home for a nap. At about 3pm, I got a message from another girlfriend from class asking if I’d seen the latest email from our lecturer. When I opened my email, I noticed Ross had emailed me, but instead read the email from my lecturer (I have my priorities set straight.) My 9am lecture the following day was cancelled and would be instead an online module in celebration of Ukraine winning Eurovision (our Ukrainian teacher was obviously thrilled.) So a score for me, I had another day to recover from my sleep hangover.
Curiosity eventually got the better of me and I opened the email from Ross to see a video attachment. Hmmm…

Now is where we get to what is simultaneously the best and worst part of the story. The poem. I won’t go into the specifics other than to say it made me uncomfortable on so many levels, and I regret how I reacted to this. I genuinely have not, even in the 3 years following, been able to get through more than 2 seconds of it without wanting to rage and vomit on myself – though I have, in fact, heard from multiple sources, what the poem contains. I just can’t bring myself to ever watch it entirely.
But back to my bad reaction to this gesture. I asked him for space because I had been struggling with some stuff I was covering in my therapy sessions, and this whole situation was making me all the more uncomfortable. So I dealt with my own head for a bit and knew “breaking up” (if we can even call it that) was the best, and only, course of action. I wasn’t feeling much towards him, let alone to the level he was if he was willing to write me a poem professing his love for me and email it to me. I decided I would do it after my final exam, but that didn’t stop him from sending two of my best friends a group inbox on Facebook to ask them if they could talk to me for him. And to make matters worse, he had the audacity to compare his “feelings” for me to their level of friendship with me. Oy with the poodles already…


So this final showdown on Facebook involved a very emotionally fragile me messaging Ross to tell him that I wasn’t on the same page as him and that I was sorry. He was still rather pushy and it frustrated me when I thought I’d been clear enough with him, so my response was to send the above photo to him when he requested that we remain friends…

The One with the Freakshakes. – Tinder.

So. Here we are. Newly 18, single and interested in exploring the dating world a little. As somewhat of an awkward person all my life, I was keen to meet new people and get out of my comfort zone. In my head, I had images of going on hikes with boys, having lunch or dinner out, seeing movies I wouldn’t normally see, scuba diving, snowboarding, sky diving… The sky was (seemingly) the limit, as my over the top confidence and self destructive behaviour took hold. At 18, and without a real serious relationship under my belt, I was excited at the prospect that someday (someday, maybe – shout out to Gilmore Girls fans for my very subtle Lauren Graham reference) I would meet someone who I could become invested in, who would also be invested in me. This, however, is not the tale of how I met that person. THIS is the tale of the boy who tried to poison me and didn’t even seem to realize he was doing it.

For those who don’t know me offline (which will likely be the majority of you- hi there!) I am lactose intolerant and have been officially since I was 14 years old. Now, usually when planning a date with a boy, they don’t recommend something dairy intensive (like going out for ice cream or a wine and cheese night at home) but in this case, I had to mention 3 times over message that maybe going out for freakshakes wasn’t the best idea unless he wanted to spend the afternoon holding my hair back while I spewed in the bushes. Could I BE any more obvious? Apparently not. I explained several times and in the simplest terms I could that I was essentially allergic to dairy and that I did not want to put him through the aftermath of me consuming it. English was his first language and he seemed to understand all of what I said the rest of the time – it was just me explaining lactose intolerance that seemed to get lost in translation. I’ve rarely chosen to use Lacteeze or Lacto pills to stop a reaction, as when I have they haven’t worked, but the times I have have been for special occasions – ice cream at places such as Pidapipó, pizza at girl’s night, or the rare occasion I have to go out and don’t want to risk ruining my day with an accidental poisoning (read – school formals and events, work experience, dinner out with family.)
But back to the boy and the date at hand. We organized to go out on a Thursday during the day as we were both off from university and I could squeeze in a quick date before I had to rush off to my part time job. I was finishing up the exams at the end of my semester and was feeling a little run down the day before, but thought I would be able to push through and go on this date – I had the Friday off, after all, and was willing to go out with him to see if maybe he had just been nervous and misread my messages about dairy. But come Wednesday night, I was at the peak of my chest infection and couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, just generally couldn’t function. I messaged him to call it off and was going to offer to reschedule, as I knew it was short notice (it was 9pm on Wednesday and we were due to meet at 9am on Thursday.) but alas the poor soul didn’t see it and showed up to my house to pick me up regardless. I answered the door in my pyjamas only to be greeted by an annoyingly cheery, somewhat goofy, boy who clearly wasn’t very good at reading body language. He invited himself in, and followed me around while I made tea, took my antibiotics and even went to the bathroom (yes, he stood outside the door while I peed. I still cringe even thinking about that.) I let my dog in for company as this boy sat on my couch and laughed at memes on Facebook without really interacting with me. Eventually, after a second cup of tea and another round of him following me round like a lost puppy, I texted a girlfriend from the toilet and asked her to call me and say that my antibiotics were ready to pick up at the chemist. Dutifully, within 5 minutes, I got the call from my friend who – in her best fake chemist voice – confirmed my name and address and then informed me that my antibiotics were ready for collection and that I should come and collect them now so that I could get the maximum dosage in before bed that night. Bingpot.
So this boy left my house, awkwardly kissing me in the ear as we both turned to leave, I did a lap around the block and came home to nap the rest of my day away. He sent me a few more messages on Tinder which I missed because I was sick, but I did eventually read them to find that they went along the lines of this –
Friday – “I’m really keen to get those freakshakes! When can we reschedule?”
Saturday – “Hey, did that send? Let me know when you’re free and we can organize something.”
Sunday – “I don’t know what I did to you to deserve this but I’m sorry L I thought we had a really good connection and was excited to see you again, I guess I’ve just ruined it again…”

I read the messages on the Monday when the fever eventually broke and I was on the mend. I couldn’t be bothered dealing with his sadness as well as my looming exams at the time as I was still pretty run down, though that didn’t stop him from blocking me by the Tuesday morning.

I wonder if he ever worked out what lactose intolerance is…  

Bad Date? Bad Day?

Whether you’ve had a bad date and want to share, or you’ve had a bad day and just need to laugh, we have you covered.
We don’t judge anyone and aim to share some of the worst dating experiences in a lighthearted, friendly way. Nothing said on this blog will ever be intended as a dig at another person, and no submission will be accepted if it names and shames someone specifically. We are here to have a laugh in a safe place, and nothing else.