Lobster Linguini, anyone?

When a man offers to cook you lobster linguini, you are supposed to swoon. Lobster is expensive and linguini is basically extra-fancy spaghetti.  You should be grateful. He thinks you are worth fancy spaghetti.  

What you shouldn’t reply is “Oh right, yeah, so I don’t really eat seafood.”

 

I hadn’t been on a date in 6 years. I got engaged when I was 22 (omfg that is just so insane to type out). 

 

I nearly got married at 26 but then a global pandemic got in the way and cancelled the wedding, then we cancelled our relationship. So it was time to put myself back out there. 

 

I’d always had a lot of fun swiping left and right with my single friends on their apps, but the thought of actually downloading one of the apps myself was nerve-wracking to say the least. I thought I was one of the lucky ones that would never have to admit to being on Tinder.  

 

I decided that I want somebody that has their shit together (I mean, who doesn’t?!), so I set my age range much higher than I usually would - but after an hour and 3 matches with 45-year-olds I decided to make it more realistic. Mainly because every time a 45-year-old matched with me, I would think ‘You’re 45, why the fuck do you want to match with a 26-year-old?!’ (well… apart from the obvious)

 

Then I matched with someone who absolutely has their shit together. A Major in the British Army, 36, also has a spaniel, wants children (it openly said this on his profile). Attractive, no baggage, and on paper… perfect! 

 

He moved quickly. “I’d be delighted to join you for a dog walk on this most delightful Sunday… shall we take the little rascals out for a stroll? I have a National Trust membership so know the perfect spot.” 

 

A NT membership? I’ll bring my spaniel for a little stroll down the altar and marry you right now. 

 

He arrived, 5 minutes late (which in Army time is about an hour late), and he definitely was not the 5ft10 as stated on his profile. 

 

He was so posh. Fucking hell, so posh. He wore dark red chinos, a formal shirt, a fleece gilet, a barbour coat - I mean just chuck on a tweed flatcap and I might as well have been out with Prince Charles. 

 

So our walk began, but every time I tried to get through a sentence he’d shout at his dog (Quercus… it’s Latin for Oak Tree, obvs!) for being 10cm further away from him than he’d like. My dog, who is a wild child, was so confused by the sound of somebody actually disciplining their dog that he was the best behaved he’s ever been in his entire life. 

 

But every time he’d shout over me, I’d lose my train of thought. He didn’t really care though, the things he wanted to know about me were: 

 

“Where did you go to University?”’ - I didn’t 

“Would you give up work if we got married to look after our children?” - I wouldn’t 

“Is Oscar a working dog?” - He isn’t

“We could take him pheasant shooting” - We couldn’t 

 

He bragged about how logical he was, how he’s great at following instructions: “I’m so good at following a cookbook recipe” - who isn’t?! That’s where the lobster linguini conversation began and ended swiftly. 

 

He told me he’s promoting to Lt Col in a few months time, when I got home and googled the salary and reconsidered giving up my job to have his children but I’d actually rather stay working in a minefield than marry somebody so dull. 

 

I’m glad to be back in the dating world, for some reason I thought the first date I’d go on would be the last. It obviously won’t be, but at least there will be plenty of good stories to share.