Oh what a cutie, we met on Tinder, conversation flowed, he made me giggle, I really wanted to like him in person.He lives 1.5 hours out of Edinburgh, on a beautiful farm.
After a week or so of messaging back and forth, and the perfect amount, not too much, not too little, just right. We were the Goldilocks of texting. M is 5ft10 (For those of you who know me and my height fetish, this is a huge step) dirty blonde, beardy, glasses, tanned and muscular/athletic.
Date one – I was really pleasantly surprised when M walked in, great face, very friendly. I didn’t have the “unf, hnng I want to jump you” feeling, but, that can develop…
We laughed all through dinner and spoke about everything from childhood to lambing season. It was getting late, and I wanted to head home, but I had a pang of guilt as he had travelled so far. He rejected my offer to pay, took my arm and walked me home. No kiss goodnight, just a cuddle and more giggles.
Date two – M booked us in to one of my favourite French bistro’s in town, it’s cheap, dark, the food is amazing, the toilets are disgusting. I had been wrestling with the pressure of him doing a 3 hour round trip to come in to Edinburgh, it made me feel like I needed to spend longer with him than I actually wanted to – not a good sign.
The date was fine, food was good, conversation a re-hash of our previous date, peppered with new stories. As cliché as it sounds, we were missing the spark. I felt bad about wanting to leave, we met at 7:30 and it was only 9pm. I had just moved house and still had the keys to my last flat and needed to pick up my post, more specifically a cheque I was expecting. As we walked out, I made my excuses, knowing it would probably be the last time I saw M and kissed him on the cheek.
We text for a few days afterwards, and he invited me out for dinner on the Friday night. I explained I thought he was great, a real gentleman but the distance was tough and I wished him all the best. He was a complete gent in return, he’s the kind of guy I would love to be friends with.