So I suppose you’re wondering how the date with Smiley Man turned out?
Well, the answer is that it went very nicely, thank you. So nicely, in fact, that we both quickly agreed that we’d like to meet up again.
Both times we talked extensively about our respective offspring without anyone getting bored or rolling their eyes: he’s a part-time single parent to his daughter, which means he gets where I’m coming from in terms of free time, or lack of, and understands when my messaging comes to an abrupt halt because I’ve just caught the little guy waving the loo brush round the bathroom and suddenly need to remove all his clothing and scrub him from head to toe.
He shares my modest approach to alcohol – important in a dating scenario – and is used to early nights and early mornings, which are pretty unavoidable round here. He’s also good friends with his ex-wife and they’re doing a great job of co-parenting their seemingly delightful daughter.
In short, he seems like a thoroughly decent chap and meeting up was all very easy and pleasant and there wasn’t a trace of awkwardness. Which is good … isn’t it?
Now, see, here comes the difficult part, because there are actually no black marks against Smiley Man: he really seems like a very nice guy and – unlike the vast majority of guys I’ve met through dating sites – he falls well within the parameters of ‘normal’, without for a moment being boring.
And yet, and yet …
The crux of the matter is that I just don’t think there’s a spark. There, I’ve said it. I genuinely enjoy his company but I’m not vaguely interested in kissing him. The thought hasn’t even crossed my mind.
And even as I say the words, I can hear the voice of my mother saying, “Ah, but physical attraction soon fades!” and I know that – up to a point – she’s right. I also know that most of the guys I’ve dated long-term were not instantly physically appealing to me. (Although it should also be noted that I’m no longer dating any of them, either.)
So what’s a girl to do? Should I keep on meeting up with him in the hope that something or other may, sooner or later, blossom? Or is that just stringing him along?
Like the perfect gentleman that he is, he hasn’t attempted to kiss me either. And I have caught him on the dating site at least once when he wasn’t talking to me, which suggests that he’s very happily and very reasonably keeping his options open. Or else that his interest in me tends towards the platonic, too.
So, do we just bobble along meeting for friendly coffees, or should I take the bull by the horns and at least articulate my ambivalence?
For once, I’m at a complete loss. My internal etiquette has no template for situations such as these. Under normal circumstances it would, of course, be no problem to keep meeting up until we either got it together or found someone else to make eyes at, and neither of us would be obliged to comment on it at all. But the simple fact that you’ve introduced yourself to someone with the express intention of bagging yourself a significant other somehow puts a different tint on it.
To confuse my already befuddled brain that little bit further, on a rare night out with friends recently, I met up with an old acquaintance who actually did make my pulse quicken just a little. Now, is that just physical attraction raising its fickle head or … what?
Whatever, it was a welcome frisson that at least served to remind me what attraction feels like, because in among nappy changes, night wakenings and early morning tantrums, it’s pretty easy to forget. The fact that the friend doesn’t live in the same country, let alone the same town pretty much negates any possibility of anything happening but … hey, isn’t that the story of my life?
Anyway, I’m all set to meet Smiley Man again this week. At least I’m supposed to meet him … if I can ever leave the house.
The little guy has come screaming into the Terrible Twos in fifth gear and bedtime is now an hour-long battle. (Such are the freedoms of the big boy bed and his ability to get out of it, again and again and AGAIN.) I have visions of Smiley Man waiting patiently at our rendezvous while I’m wrestling a recalcitrant toddler back under the covers for the fourteenth time.
It’s at times like these that the whole thing just seems so flipping difficult that I start to wonder whether there’s space in my life for two men after all. But whilst cuddles from a certain snuffly little guy melt my heart and fill me with joy, I also want someone to share cuddles with after 8pm.
So I suppose all I can do is wrestle that toddler into bed one more time and make a dash for the door … and hope that sooner or later it will become apparent whether I’ve made yet another friend or something a bit more special.