Soundtrack: I Knew You Were Trouble by Taylor Swift.
I grabbed my phone, then tip-tapped and swiped until I’d found the Plenty of Fish app. As previously mentioned in ‘Out with the Old,’ I was done with it all, done with trying to find love, and done with putting myself through the torment that was online dating. But then, life does what life does best… and now, I think it’s in with the new.
Allow me to explain.
A Message
I opened the app with the intention of deleting my account, then deleting the app from my phone right after… but things didn’t exactly go that way. I noticed a message. Just one, and one that I had apparently missed somewhere between meeting One Ball, then turning off notifications and not going on the app again.
The message had been sent that morning, which almost felt like a sign. I’m not sure that I believe in signs, but that one felt… well, very signy. That very first message made me giggle to myself, too… so you know I’m in trouble. You lot, too. You’ll need to read all about it, so I’m sorry in advance. Ish. But not really.
A Profile
I took a peek at his profile next. Less literate than I’d like. Funny, though. Interesting. Intriguing. He liked adventures, tattoos, and motorbikes, and don’t I like those things, too? I kept looking for something that turned me off… but there wasn’t anything. Not really. He – or rather his profile – just kept ticking all the right boxes.
Fuck.
A Picture
His profile picture didn’t really do or say much about him. One of those far-away-but-close-enough photos that showed everything and somehow nothing, all at once. So, I scrolled through the rest… and found myself grinning like the Cheshire Cat by the time I’d gotten to the end. He had plenty of tattoos, plenty of salt n’ pepper hair, a gruffness to him that made my heart flip, and that rough-around-the-edges thing that makes my cunt flip.
I was meant to be deleting my profiles and focusing on me. This – he – wasn’t part of my master plan.
But… well… I replied with a witty message of my own. I couldn’t help myself. Even as my brain screamed, “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?” I still went ahead and tapped out that reply, then sent it, without a moment’s hesitation.
I am a glutton for punishment, it seems.
A Night
We ended up talking for hours – well into the early hours of the morning. He lives a fair-ish distance from me, a forty-five minute drive. If I didn’t have time for a relationship with One Ball, I have no clue what I think I’m doing, flirting with a chap that lives even further away.
This new one, who I will call Jock, is older than me by seven years, which ticks another box.
He’s fairly easy going, which ticks one more.
He asks questions about me, seems interested in what I have to say, and takes the piss out of me already… so I guess I really am in trouble. One night and I’m already singing his praises on the blog… literally hours after I broke up with the chap that I didn’t have time for.
This is going to end horrendously already, whether it’s in a few days, weeks, or months. I already like him. We haven’t even met yet, but I’m already leaping across the room when my phone tinkles with a new message notification, then grinning like an absolute psychopath as we piss-take back n’ forth.
I’m getting carried away. My head, heart, and cunt are getting carried away – already.
This is bad, folks.
It is, apparently, out with the old… and in with the new?
The next blog post in the dating timeline is this one: I Hate It When Men Cry.
Thank you so much for reading my blog today! 🖤
Would you like to read all about Jock’s story, right from the very beginning? You’ll find that right here.
You can also read all about my disastrous dating history, right from the beginning, right here: Table of Dating Contents.
Alternatively, why not have a little peek around here: