‘Oh fuck this is exciting. I mean. Cool, whatever.’

He was so nice; a far cry from the usual arseholes I seem to attract.
And the problem with having a deep-rooted belief that all men are bellends is that when Mr Good Guy comes along, somewhere in my amygdala amongst the serotonin and dopamine, Mr Good Guy gets confused with Mr Perfect; aka Prince Charming.

We meet through mutual friends (so far this is more promising than blokes from Tinder), he is friendly and chatty. Did I mention he is nice? He has a job which he talks about with animation and ambition. He is up for a good time. He’s really rather nice. He buys you a drink – God, he is nice.  He suggests you swap numbers, he texts you something witty from across the table.  Your eyes meet, you both smile.  Oh my God – this is it.  Stop hunting everyone!  You have found him.  Hang on.  Must be cool.

The evening is a heady-mix of staring-for-a-fraction-too-long, coy smiles, and sheer disbelief at how genuine this guy seems to be.  Or maybe it’s the tequila….?  Regardless, the evening ends with a flirty walk home playing with each other’s hands, culminating in a drunken kiss.

The next morning there’s a hungover coffee date.  That evening there’s a bar-crawl for two.  And a PG sleepover.

The following week is like floating on a stupid cloud of girliness:

  • He texted first!  Omigod!
  • No work gets done because it’s far more important to analyse texts over the phone with girlfriends.
  • When are we seeing each other next?  Can I suggest a meet?  No, probably not.

I text a friend:

I met a boy

She replies:

Oh fuck this is exciting.  I mean.  Cool, whatever.

She knows.

The weekend comes around and by some small miracle, I am very cool and calm.  I’m looking forward to seeing the guy, but the cloud has evaporated (much to the relief of my girlfriends).

In retrospect, this should have been an indicator.

The evening pans out like this:

  1. Early cinema – hand holding, arm holding (it was a scary film), cheeky sideways glances
  2. Dinner
  3. Drinks
  4. Sleepover (now more of a 12A, bordering a 15).

He’s so nice.

But we’re so different.

And unfortunately, nice did not trump the elephant in the room: we are totally different people on different paths looking for different things.

But he’s lovely.  So we’ll stay friends.

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