Dating App Hell; A Modern Nightmare

If Paloma Faith can’t meet anyone, what chance do I have?

This morning, I woke up to a message on OkCupid from a guy I hadn’t matched with (and never would), saying, "Francis, can I lick you?" What was going through his mind when he sent that? Well, aside from the obvious. Then came two more messages, one simply said, "Hi, I think you’re beautiful," and another waffled on about our high algorithm score and how we should "get to know each other." Sure, the score’s high, but I could already tell he’s not my type. His profile picture? Tiny, skimpy shorts, grapes, and bananas strategically tied to his body. Yes, the bananas are exactly where you think they are. Oh, and a simple "Hi" from a 39-year-old ,  too young for me at 54. Swipe left, swipe left, swipe left.

Next day, a 63-year-old with no front teeth, "Hi Francis, I like your profile. We have a similar outlook on life. If you fancy chatting to this mild-mannered man of music and mirth, let’s see where it goes." Erm, no, thank you. Swipe left again. Then a 39-year-old messages, "Hi Francis, how are you doing? Let’s chat and get to know each other." Nope! Swipe left! Another intro, 42, topless gym selfie, showing off a washboard stomach in the mirror. “I was going to offer to paint you but just realised you’re already a work of art” Swipe left. Another 10 likes have been added to my 99+ notifications, but the one guy I could remotely fancy and relate to hasn’t liked me back. He’s just sitting in my 'People You Like' folder, all lonesome. Sigh.

Time for Bumble, zero messages, but 100+ likes, 18 new, and 50 that live nearby. There is only one guy in my ‘chats’ section and we stopped talking to each other a month ago. I have no idea why I haven’t deleted him, I usually do, after 4 days of no communication, but I think I have Dating App fatigue, I can’t even be bothered. I used to go invisible every night on the dating apps, knowing the midnight sex pests were out to play. But not anymore, let them try and catch me now.

They’re stacking up like a to-do list I can’t be bothered to tackle. I finally psych myself up, Here goes. Ben, 45 – this looks promising. But no bio, and he lives 67 miles away. Into the "maybe" pile he goes. Next? A man with the same name as my ex husband. That’s a hard swipe left. Oh, what’s this? It’s him from Dating Story Number 11! What is he playing at? Maybe he’s like that Grumpy Viking from Dating Story Number 4 , he had no clue who I was, even though it had only been two weeks since he ghosted me, then disappeared like mist in the night the 2nd time around. Twice ghosted by the same Viking. Swipe left, not putting myself through that hell again. (Stay tuned for Dating story number 11). My stomach flips, next a photo of a 49-year-old guy, mouth wide open, fork in hand, about to shove an octopus tentacle down his throat. Why? Just... why?

At a glance, I spot at least six guys I’ve already made the "first move" with. Remember? Bumble used to make me initiate the conversation. None of them responded, even though I carefully read their profiles, making sure to craft a witty or friendly opener that showed I actually paid attention. And what do they do? I can tell you, they vanished into the 24-hour ‘times up’, dating abyss, only to return like hopeless dopes on a carousel. I hold grudges. I remember you, lads (how? I’ve no idea, but I do). You should’ve replied! Or at least extended the chat to 48 hours if you were busy. Swipe left, every last one of them.

And then we have Mr Moderator. Clearly moderated for breaking Bumble's rules , just a nameless rule-breaker. He’s got a foot fetish and every other photo is him flexing in skimpy pants. Sick rises in my throat,  I can practically smell his sweaty armpits through the screen. Swipe left. Next, a cute guy, things are looking up! Until I see he’s only after "intimacy without commitment." Typical.

With no prospect of meeting Mr Right anytime soon, I wonder if in the future I am doomed to spend my twilight years alone in a seaside cottage, pottering around with 5 cats? After six years of being single, it’s starting to feel like that’s my fate. Where I once had hope, I now only have doom and despair. In the first two years after my divorce in 2018, I was perfectly content being single. But now, six years later, that contentment has faded.

The other day, I came across an article in The Guardian by Paloma Faith. She’s been single for three years and discusses how, in a world where no one flirts or chats you up anymore, she turned to dating apps. Her experiences mirror mine! She talks about how, as a single mum, her time is precious, and how it enrages her to waste it on bad dates.

She goes on to say, "The modern model of how to connect with people is the very thing preventing us from creating real connection." I completely agree. It’s so easy for people to hide behind a screen and put no real effort into getting to know you. It often feels like they’re chatting to 10 or 12 other women at the same time, which means there’s no real substance, just someone half-heartedly involved, only to disappear later.

But what truly surprises me is that Paloma Faith is on a dating app at all. If ‘she’ can’t meet anyone, what chance do I have?

I want to write to her, tell her she’s not alone. I, too, have been love-bombed, ghosted, and video-chatted by guys doing things they really shouldn’t be doing without consent. Don’t even get me started on the ‘ethical non-monogamous’ lot. Maybe we could go for a glass of wine and share horror stories.

I’ve already deleted E-Harmony , with seven months left on my plan, Coffee Meets Bagel, with 9 months left on my plan, Match, and Hinge. All for good reason. Back on Bumble, I start feeling overwhelmed. Then sad. Then mad. I start thinking about being single forever. I picture myself pottering around in that seaside cottage once the kids have all grown up. It’s not so bad, is it? Long walks alone, supermarket trips, dinners for one, raising a glass of wine to myself. Cheers, Francis!

Is it really that bad? Yes, for me it is. Six years of showing up to every wedding, party, and charity event (on the odd occasion I get invited to one) alone, surrounded by couples, it’s tough. While I am lucky to have a social life and have an amazing group of friends, its the norm for them to give me their spare time during the week, I get it weekends are usually reserved for hubby’s and family time. I go to the cinema by myself, long walks alone, I have no one to go on holiday with (apart from the kids) or weekend get- aways. On a warm summer night, when no one is around, I sit out-front of my local pub, a glass of wine in hand, feeling like Billy No-Mates.

I sigh, but what really hurts is the feeling that no one has my back. There’s no one looking out for me or offering support. No one to fight my corner, to listen to my workday struggles, to share a laugh with in the evening. No one to cuddle up with on the sofa, no one to kiss, no one to share life’s moments with or help carry the load. No one loves me in a romantic way. I don’t want to be single anymore, yet here I am.

As I live my life to the fullest, surrounded by wonderful people and engaging in hobbies I love, I also imagine a future that matches the life I want, hoping it will one day come true. But I can’t help but fear that it won’t, and that I’ll end up as the cat lady next door.