Even when I hear the quietest chime of an alarm bell, I’m out of there. I have no hesitation to cut my losses, jump out of the nearest window and run a mile, quicker than you can say, Why the hell did I swipe right? My dating motto for the past two years has been: I so cannot be bothered. It’s true – I so cannot be bothered. What is it that I cannot be bothered about? A lot. And no, this isn’t me being fussy or high maintenance, nor am I giving up on the single men left within my vicinity. There’s not many left. In fact, it’s the opposite. This is me saying, I so cannot be bothered wasting my time with the ones that are clearly wasting mine. I guess you can refer to it as: The Dating Bullshit. And you know what? You should so cannot be bothered too.

As we all know, I’ve been dating consistently for four years. And, like many of you I’m sure, have been taken for granted, for a fool, more times than I’ve had baked dinners. What I’ve come to realise though, is this granted vs baked dinner statistic is of no one’s fault but my own. That’s right, I’m taking the blame for almost, if not all, heartbreaks I’ve ever endured. Why? Because it is so freaking clear – he was just not that into me.

Years ago, the alarm bells would ring off the hook and I’d stick around. Hey, sometimes they would almost send me deaf and I’d still stick around. There were so many signs, which if and when happen today, I’m out of there quick sticks. These signs are clear as mud. Clear as day. Could say they are as clear as the wine glass to my right, filled to the brim, but Simone, keep this somewhat professional.

I so cannot be bothered came into play after I was screwed over by a guy I really, really liked. When I say screwed over, think of the one guy you dated who you introduced to some of your friends, members of your family, you cooked for him, he suggested holidaying together, he stayed over and vice versa. And then… Whoosh! The rug is pulled from under you.

Yep, two years ago, almost to the date, I was screwed over big time. And of course, he didn’t give two hoots. Onto the next! – I’m sure that’s what he thought. No, really, I’m sure. He had a girlfriend within a matter of days! Days I tell you. God, that’ll be the last time I cook lasagne, bechamel sauce and all, from scratch for a man! Oh, unless he’s my lovely husband of course. 

In hindsight, I was rejected long before that night; I just refused to listen to the alarm bells. Why? Because I so wanted to be bothered. I wanted him to be bothered. I refused to accept that the little communication in between dates, the lack of texts, the excuses of having to stay late back at work, the inability to answer my calls, the last minute dinner cancellations, and the inability to commit to plans in advance, outweighed the “great” times we spent together. I gave him (and one too many others) the benefit of the doubt. I was convinced that the time we actually spent together translated to him genuinely wanting to officially, exclusively, date me. I refer to this as: The Dating Bullshit. 

I chose to ignore the alarm bells, and I know I’m not alone here. Why it is that we choose to put up with disappointment, aka The Dating Bullshit? I’ll tell you why. It’s because we want, almost desperately, for them to be bothered. And we wait, and wait, and wait some more. And then we are… Disappointed, with a capital D.

The Dating Bullshit. It’s just that. Bullshit.

So, I stand by it – I so cannot be bothered. 

And on that note, with my clear as crystal wine glass in hand, I’d like to make a toast: To two of my recently single girlfriends, to all the single women out there, and to the gentlemen who aren’t leading The Dating Bullshit craze: Indecision is a decision! Get the f*%# out of there! Cheers!

The person of conversation here was a guy I met via… wait for it… Tinder! Story of my life. He stood out from the Tinder crowd. He was just so freaking cool. We got along well, but we were quite different from one another to say the least.

He was vegan and shopped mainly at organic markets on a Sunday. Me on the other hand, I tend to choose, you know, the meat lover pizza from the menu and in all honesty cannot help but consume chocolate on a daily basis. He rode a shiny, black motorbike everywhere he went, rain, hail or shine. And still looked amazing. Damn him. Me? Well, I drove a little, dusty red hatchback that broke down at least once every month. I’ve since updated. Please note, this doesn’t help in the dating department.  In his spare time, he dabbled in a bit of modelling for high end fashion brands. In my spare time, I like to paint my nails DIY style with the nail polish I purchased on sale. He watched what he ate, which I do also. That is, watching my food make its way from the bowl, onto my fork and into my mouth. Even during a second serving.

Let’s just cut to the chase. He was, and he even said so himself, vain. Not a great quality. But, with his groomed manly beard and glowing olive skin and mesmerising eyes and perfect black hair and abs of steel… He was the heartbreaker of all heartbreakers.

But you still want to meet him, don’t you? Fine! But don’t get too attached. Half Malaysian, half Australian, six foot two, Graphic Designer. Please meet, and don’t stare… TOM*.

To be continued…


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