The Manchester Dating Files

"I'm living for these updates. Like a modern Carrie Bradshaw."

I received this message from a friend I went to university with after I posted about a not so great date on my private Instagram story. And, she hasn't been the only one to say this.

A brief history, so you’re all caught up:

I became single in May after my fiance and partner of nine years sat me down on the bank holiday Friday and told me he was no longer in love with me.

Heart breaking, I know.

We had been together since we were 17 and had been engaged for a year and a half and suddenly, I was thrust into single life as an adult for the first time.

After a few weeks of wallowing, eating ice cream and, frankly, being very angry, I needed a little validation so I did what any normal 26 year old would do.

I joined Hinge... and Tinder.

I said I was normal, not smart!

Anyway, it was at this point I realised I had a type. 

My friends have described my type as ‘medium ugly’ men with a mullet and facial hair. When I started on the apps, this became evident. Man after man with a half decent haircut, a moustache and an easy smile would get a swipe in the right direction.

It wasn’t long before I went on my first date… I will go more into what happened with him in my next post, but let's just say the best thing I got out of it was the story.

Picture this. I’m getting coffee with my best guy friend, recounting the ins and outs of the night before. And then on Monday morning, I’m holding court with my colleagues in the staff kitchen.

Before long, I was dropping by desks before work and at lunch to give updates on my love life. It has become a routine and people are loving the drama.

Some of my friends wanted updates too, and after one particularly bad date (a review to come at a later point) I posted to my private Instagram story… Suddenly my inbox is full of messages asking what happened. 

It gave me an idea: curate my close friends list to include people I know would appreciate the updates (and most importantly not include any of my family) and give them what they wanted - almost live updates.

The first date I went on with this update schedule resulted in my friend’s comment and do you know what, Carrie and I are not too dissimilar.

Sure, there’s a six year age gap between us and I live in Manchester, England rather than New York City, USA… But she is a writer and so am I. She lives in a busy city on her own in an apartment that no one is really sure how she can afford and so do I. She has brilliant friends and, luckily, so do I.

She is also willing to do almost anything for the plot and so am I.

There was a week where I felt like Christmas had come early and not for the right reasons.

Much like Scrooge, I was visited by three ghosts… or more accurately, I wasn’t visited.

Ghost One and I had a date planned for a Friday night. Ghost Two and I had a date planned for Saturday night and Ghost three and I were supposed to meet on Monday night.

Yes, I was, in theory, booked and busy that week. In reality my weekend was very free.

Ghost One was 33, 6ft 2 and very classically handsome. A strong jawline and chiselled abs. The girls at work were very excited for me to go on this date. And so was I. He was flirty over text and, most importantly, didn’t live far from me.

Two days before the date he just stopped responding. So I got the hint.

No harm, no foul… right? 

Someone at work asked if I was upset over this. I wasn’t. He was just some guy and if at his big age he couldn't let me know he wasn’t interested anymore then I wasn’t going to waste my time.

Anyway, I had a date scheduled for the next evening.

Ghost Two was 30 and from New Zealand and had that artsy look that I like. With him there was no warning. We had been speaking consistently, he even confirmed the day before that he was still on for our date.

The day of, I didn’t hear from him. But that’s okay, he had confirmed the night before.

So I got ready and went to the bar. I ordered a glass of wine and sat and waited.

And I waited.

And I dropped him a text.

And I waited a little longer.

15 minutes after our date should have started, I start telling my friends that I have been stood up. One thought that crossed my mind was: “wow, this kinda feels a little cinematic.”

Picture this. I’m sitting in the bar, constantly checking my phone with a glass of half drunk house white wine. The bartenders know what’s happening. They keep looking over to me and one of them even comes up and asks if I need anything. She has a look of pity on her face. 

Talk about a main character moment!

After finishing my wine (which cost more than any house white should ever cost but I digress), I went home and curled up in bed with my cat.

Speaking with M about it a few days later, he asked if I was okay. I was but also I wasn’t. He had confirmed the night before. Why did he no-show? Did he change his mind last minute or did he never intend on coming? 

But the biggest problem was I had wasted a full face of makeup on him only to wear it for all of 45 minutes.

Ghost Three, or Mr Monday night as my middle aged work bestie had started calling him, was always just going to be a hook up and yet, he was the one that hurt the most.

32 years old and the body of a Greek God. Sure, two of my friends laughed when they saw a picture of his face but for me he was cute enough for what I wanted from him.

Our conversations had been flirty pretty much from the start, so much so, I couldn’t read his texts at work because they caused me to blush a little too much for my liking.

We moved off Tinder to Instagram pretty quickly too which was fine for me. After all, this could have become a regular thing if he could live up to his rather large promises.

He told me he was going camping with friends over the weekend and I told him to have fun and to text me if he wanted to but no pressure. I don’t need these men to be blowing up my phone at all but a little communication goes a long way.

Sunday night, having not heard from him, I went to check our messages. 

He had blocked me on Instagram and unmatched me on Tinder.

Like I said, this one hurt me a little bit.

Mainly because it had been so flirty, and at some points explicit, I couldn’t help but wonder: what about me had turned him cold? Had he shown his friends photos of me and had they also laughed like my friends did with him? Had he decided I wasn’t actually hot enough for him?

Who knew being ghosted by a guy I only had plans to hook up with would send me into a downward spiral with my self esteem.

When I told my coworkers and friends what had happened over the weekend they were rightly stunned. Being stood up in the 21st century shocked the middle aged women and they told me about their experiences of being stood up in the 90s and 2000s. You know, when not everyone had a phone glued to their hand.

It was a nice bonding moment between us.

They also reminded me that all three of these ghosts are the ones in the wrong and it is about them and not me.

I didn’t understand what they meant by that. How could this not be about me? But this is where I have to remember that I’m not the main character in everyone’s story, only my own.

These women, many now in happy marriages, told me that my three ghosts will probably not have thought about me in their decision to not come to the date. They will have only been thinking about themselves.

I think at my core I knew this. 

I knew that there was nothing I could have done to prevent these guys from ghosting me. This is just how people operate these days. It sucks, especially if you’re dealing with this kind of rejection for the first time.

This question has been rattling around in my head since my first first date.

This man, we will call him Snapchat, seemed lovely. He was lovely.

He was also 31.

Snapchat and I met on Hinge and hit it off. We chatted about everything and also nothing.

He looked cute in his photos, was 5ft 11 (for reference I’m 5ft 2 so height isn’t a big deal for me), he had dark hair and a beard. 

So we organised a date for a Friday night. He picked the venue (a green flag) and was willing to travel from Stockport into Manchester City Centre (another green flag).

He also got the thumbs up from a few of the people I know. What more could I want?

Friday night comes and I decide to wear extremely impractical shoes. What can I say, they make my legs look great and I’m just a girl… But I immediately regretted it. Walking through the streets of Manchester at 7:30pm while the late summer sun is still shining looking the way I did was a recipe for disaster.

I felt uncomfortable both physically (thanks stilettos) and because of all the eyes on me. One thing I learned quickly about myself that night is that I needed to fake my confidence. I needed to strut and pretend that I didn’t notice the looks I got. This is something that did get easier the more dates I went on.

Snapchat arrived before I did. He picked a table near enough to the door that I didn’t have to do that awkward thing of wandering through a bar looking for someone I didn’t know. This was another green flag in his favour.

He was dressed nicely and bought the drinks. All seemed to be going well. But there were some red flags too.

For starters, he referred to women as ‘bitches’ when it really didn’t call for it. He was talking about his sister, who he didn’t get on with, and he called her one.

All of us that have siblings know that relationships between us and them can be difficult. I’m the first one to call my own sister a bitch but the thing is I do it to her face and not to a date, especially on a first date.

I let calling his sister a bitch slide. I also let it slide when he referred to a random woman as a bitch. 

I can hear you yelling at me through the screen. I know, I shouldn’t have let it slide! I’ll remember that for next time. I promise! But there is no changing the past… Just enjoy the rest of the story.

He bought the second round of drinks.

Halfway through the second round of drinks I noticed this thing he did. He would ask me something, I’d start to reply and then he would talk over me. But we continued to talk about everything. My job, his job and so on. 

I bought the third round of drinks.

This is when he asked me if I had Snap. 

Dear reader, I technically have a Snapchat. I haven’t used it in years but the account still exists.

I told him this and playfully said: “You’re 31! Why do you have Snapchat?” He told me that it was because he had some friends that that was their only form of communication they used.

Fine. I know people who I can only text through Discord and others that if I don’t message on Insta, they won’t reply. He then said: “I even have a streak with someone.”

That makes sense, right? If that’s the only way to contact a friend then you’re bound to have a streak but he followed it up with: “We don’t even talk. We just keep the streak.”

If you know me, then you know I have very little control over my face. I’m… expressive to say the least. A friend told me that even if I got botox, they wouldn’t be surprised if it didn’t work due to how expressive I am.

Snapchat was on the receiving end of how expressive I am in that moment because he very quickly added: “I know! It’s so cringey!” 

I got the ick so quickly.

This is the part of the story I emphasised the most when I debriefed with my guy friend (who we will call M) the next day.

Sending just a black screen or a picture of half his face in the morning like he’s a teenage boy? No, come on now, that’s just silly. 

The date continued and when it was time to call it a night, he walked me home. I caught some flack for this from M and another guy friend. They were concerned that Snapchat now knows where I live. 

I wasn’t worried about this. He was a lovely guy and there was no reason for me to believe that he would be pushing to come inside. Mainly because he hadn’t flirted with me once all evening… but I digress.

He walked me home, which was lovely because I was a little tipsy and my shoes were causing me problems.

Like I had predicted, he was a perfect gentleman and said goodbye to me at the door. I initiated a kiss, placing his hand on my waist and stepping into his space. 

Dear reader, it was a bad kiss.

It was like kissing a rock. His mouth and jaw were way too tense. 

You may think this is the end of Snapchat’s story. You’d be mistaken.

While debriefing with M the next day, Snapchat texts me asking about taking me on a second date. I wasn’t sure. He was lovely but I wanted to be flirted with and for me, I didn’t think a spark would form.

M told me to do it for the plot.

So we arranged a date for Monday night. The plan, which he suggested, was for him to pick me up and take me out for dinner.

Brilliant! 

Not brilliant. 

As I’m leaving work on Monday he sends me a text. 

“Hey, the bar I wanted to take you to tonight is closed Mondays. Meet me in Piccadilly Gardens at 7:30 and we will go from there x”

A couple of things of note.

He was no longer picking me up

He hadn’t booked anywhere

Food was no longer on the cards

I let this slide and went, for plot reasons.

We end up in a bar in Stevenson Square and I’m immediately regretting my choice to go.

He is still talking over me, he is still calling random women bitches and he is still not flirting with me. I also noticed that he had bad dental hygiene which, due to how dark the bar of our first date was, I didn’t catch.

It feels like I’m out for drinks with a friend of a friend. It doesn’t feel like a date.

Then he says something that puts everything into perspective.

We were talking about our friendship groups and he tells me that a lot of his friends do coke.

Dear reader, I think this guy was on coke while on our date. It made everything make sense.

I decided to cut the date short. It was a Monday night and I told him I had to be in the office early the next day. 

That was a lie.

He said he would walk me home, I said there was no point in him walking me all the way to my door when he’d have to walk back on himself for the bus. He pushed it and I said that I had promised a friend who was having a bad time that I would call her on my way home. 

That was a lie.

I walked with him to his bus stop and we said goodbye. He took a step towards me and I took a step back.

This is where the final nail in Snapchat’s coffin is hit. 

Instead of taking a hint, he grabs my wrist and pulls me in for a kiss. Luckily I turn my head quickly enough that he kisses my cheek instead.

I did end up calling a friend on my walk home because what the fuck was that?

The next day I sent him a text explaining that I didn’t think I could see us going anywhere romantically. He sent a nice enough text back wishing me well.

I then unmatched with him on Hinge and blocked his number because there was no way I wanted to hear from him again.