sex & relationships

Tinderella: Where have all the good men gone?

When I moved from Ireland to Wales, one of the first things I did was dedicate myself a little more to my Tindering. After all, I was new in town, my classes hadn’t started yet, and I had to make friends somehow.

Then along came potentially my worst nightmare. Having grown up in a house where both parents were teachers, I was a bit wary of the profession. I’ve seen what it did to my mother, and she’s been at it over 20 years now. What did my first dip into the Welsh dating pool throw at me? A teacher. Fantastic.

Geraint, however, was not a teacher in the sense that my Mam was. First, he actually left the school when the bell sounded end of day (it’s 9.30pm as I write this and there’s a 30 per cent chance my mother is probably still in school. Bless.) Second, he was a student teacher. Of sorts.

Geraint (which, to this day, I’m still not sure how to pronounce) and I got on pretty well after matching on Tinder. Despite that, I was a little shocked when, a mere two days after we’d first spoken, he asked the question every girl waits their whole life to hear.

“Do you fancy meeting me for Nandos this weekend?”

Only two days in and he knew my love affair with poultry. I agreed, wondering how I would gently break it to him that when I ordered in Nandos, I ordered plain. Buy your hats and save the day, this one was headed straight for the aisle.

The Dates

And that’s how it seemed. Our first date was calm, simple, relaxed, and chatty- the complete opposite to my last date. After finishing the night off in a pub just across the road (both of us on the soft drinks), he dropped me home and we said our good nights. When he’d eventually gotten me home, that is- between him being an out-of-towner and me only having been in Cardiff a week – we got lost somewhere on the ten minute car ride from the city centre to my house.

Date two came the following Thursday, and brought with it a round of golf in the shopping centre. He let me use the yellow ball (my favourite colour) in lieu of the pink one, and as a thank you I let him win by more than 60 points. I’m awful sound.

Kettlemag, Tinderella, Pixabay

At dinner afterward, everything was lovely. Cosy. Almost a little familiar. We spoke about Christmas plans (in early October. On date two. So a little early on both accounts.) We held hands as we walked back to his car. This is where the problem began.

While looking for the address on his phone, he got a phone call. From his “female best friend”. Strangely, after hanging up, he couldn’t get home fast enough. Geraint, who I had spoken to each day for about a month was already in a relationship. He dropped me home, turned the corner around the top of my street, and disappeared for good.

I often wonder if I should have picked up on something. But for now, I’ll settle for a date with this charmer.