6. Thanks But No Thanks

When I first started online dating, I would religiously write back to everyone who contacted me, even if I didn’t think they were for me, believing it was a polite thing to do. Not wanting to hurt people’s feelings, I’d send a courteous and sensitive reply saying that I’d enjoyed reading their profile but they lived too far away/didn’t share the same interests/weren’t my type.

These emails reminded me of the thank you letters my mother made me write after Christmas when I was a kid. Faced with a hideous hand knitted hat, a pac-a-mac and a pair of enormous knickers that I’d finally grow into in my twenties, I’d manage to write something so gracious that distant aunts would believe I’d been thrilled with their presents.

Although I’m often tempted to write back just to correct men’s spelling and grammar, I’m feeling a bit jaded nowadays and I’m afraid I rarely reply, particularly if it just says “hi” and their profile isn’t very interesting.  If they have put some effort into writing (they’ve written more than one sentence without including the words babe/hun/chick), I’ll send one back politely saying “thank you but no thank you”.

As gracious as my emails are, some men have taken exception to being turned down and I’ve received a few replies, like this one from HotCobra:

“No Worries hun, if you can’t hold a conversation ,then good luck , your loss ,Passion’s Fruit, cum’s to mind”

 

or this one from BigBoyDave:

 

“You think your so special. Well I thought you looked fat in your photo but I hoped it was just the angle it was taken from.”

 

Ouch BigBoy!!!  If anyone can enlighten me on what HotCobra’s talking about I’d love to know!

 

One of the “best” emails was one I received after a date.

Geoff had been looking at my profile on HeBay for weeks, but never emailed or nudged. Eventually I sent him a nudge because I thought he looked rather interesting.  After a week of nudging we played email pingpong for about two weeks. His emails were articulate, talking about his interests, places he’d been to etc. etc.

Finally he said that he’d like to meet up for a drink and “?”. I took that to mean “let’s have a drink and if we get on we’ll have dinner”.  He asked for my phone number and when he rang, we chatted for a while before arranging to meet at a local hotel bar.

The hotel is quite smart so I put on my favourite Paul Smith dress, not too tight, not revealing, and my beloved high heels.

Geoff was nice looking, well spoken and he looked clean. A little rotund perhaps, not my usual type, but not bad for a man in his 50s. He wasn’t 5’10” as he’d described on his profile which was a little disappointing as I towered over him in my heels, but I quite fancied him actually!

We drank G&Ts while he spoke about his job and asked intelligent questions about mine. We talked about our families, friends, places we’d travelled to. He seemed very nice and normal.

When I excused myself to go to the loo, he said “hurry back” but when I returned he seemed to change. He got fidgety and announced that he had to leave, he was tired. His exit was worthy of Steve McQueen in the Great Escape, I’ve never seen anyone move so quickly.

Possibly our wires were crossed. I was expecting dinner but I think he was expecting something else and realised he wasn’t going to get it. I rather suspect he may have had a backup plan and got a better offer while I was in the loo.

All dressed up, starving and with nowhere to go, I got KFC and returned home.

 

After two days I received this email:

“Thanks for Saturday evening. I enjoyed talking at you, cross examining you, possibly confusing you with schematics of [my job]! Most of all I remember trying not to stare at your magnificent bosom (it’s a guy thing).  I had to sleep on you so-to-speak!  

It’s like everything on the menu is good, but its so hard to make a decision …. “

 

Remembering my mother’s advice of “always say thank you even if you don’t like it”, this is the email I sent back:

 

“I too enjoyed Saturday evening. However, if I’d realised you just wanted to drool over my breasts I’d have worn a low-cut top so you could get a better look, and dispensed with the conversation. If you’d said you were only interested in me from the neck down I could easily have slipped a bag over my head. I kept crossing and uncrossing my legs so you could see up my skirt too, but maybe that was too subtle for you.

 Oh you men and the “guy thing”, that makes everything ok! In my limited experience most men keep those thoughts to themselves and don’t reveal them to a woman after one date, so I’m especially flattered that you decided to share them with me and not just with your male friends.

It must be really difficult to make a decision about whether or not you want to see someone again, especially when you haven’t been paying attention to their conversation. Again, thanks for sharing that with me. I’m touched that you’ve been trying to make up your mind about me for two whole days, and it’s really sweet that you’ve been thinking about me at all.  

 It seems that you still haven’t made up your mind and I’d love to say that I’ll just hang around until you do. In this case though, it’s not really your decision to make, since the dish of the day is off.

Rubarbs

PS. Following on with the hilarious menu analogy in your email, I was trying to take a sneaky peek at your packed lunch all evening, but it was hidden by your belly of pork. “

 

An overreaction? Maybe. Perhaps I have more in common with HotCobra and BigBoyDave than I thought. I was incensed though!  Geoff  turned out to be another numpty showing his true colours! Definitely a 10 on the Wanker Scale.

It seems to me that although men have a brain and a penis, for some there’s only enough blood to run one at a time.

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15 thoughts on “6. Thanks But No Thanks

  1. Brilliant. Another cracker of a post!! {:o)
    I’d like to praise you for your understanding approach im matters of a chap’s anatomy. It’s refreshing to hear a woman appreciating how much blood a huge, nay massive (innit), penis, (such as I can sport on a hot day), takes from a chap’s brain.

    I frequently pass out in town, and Spring is a particularly risky time for me to go wandering around. I had a season ticket down at A&E until I started to wear a full face crash helmet, which I must say has been a life-changing purchase. The mirrored visor means I can have a good old look before it goes all hazy and black.
    I’m enjoying picking up hints and tips from your blog and with your help hope to find my first girlfriend soon, so keep it up.

    Ok, the sun’s come out, so I’m off to polish my helmet (first impressions being so important) and go down town on the bus for a gander. I don’t usually remember anything about the bus trip, and the driver knows to drag me off and prop me outside The pound Shop until I come to again.
    The trip in on pensioner day is usually ok, unless the one with the tartan headscarf is sat next to me in the miniskirt. x

  2. I am new to your blog. Love it! We are very close to the same age, I have found the over 50 dating pool to be about the same as you. If one can’t laugh about it, one would be very depressed. 🙂

    • Ms Courtland, I can assure you without fear of contradiction nor any worthy challenge to the contrary, that we British men are in a class of our own when it comes to seeking the hand of a maiden, fair or not.

      We are much buoyed in out enthusiastic pursuit by the considerable advantage that being on an Island gives a chap. A maiden may lift her skirts and run, but the cliffs are as far as she can hope to get before the thundering hooves of a Gentleman’s stallion becomes them to wilt into a faint, that they may be carried off splendidly and so be saved from themselves.

      I’m afraid your Texas chaps just don’t have the style, nor the experience of hundreds of years of Wenching behind them to enable them to compare to the depth we British chaps can sink, to coerce the pantaloons from an ample and promising posterior.

      Should you doubt the integrity of my claim, you are most welcome to fly across and try your luck. I myself, The Champion of Somerset, Sir Clint Thrust McUdy, The Prosilient One, will generously give you some twenty of our British minutes before I mount up on Old Plunderer and give chase o’er the moor.

      You will not, I assure you, make it to the cliffs…….

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