Sunday, 7 August 2011

First date feedback

1.) On a scale of one to ten, where one means "unsatisfactory" and ten means "very satisfactory", how satisfactory was our date?

2.) Will you be calling me?

Yes/No (Delete as appropriate)

3.) If "no", why?

You did/didn't put out and I only wanted sex/You're a horrible human being and the thought of speaking to you ever again makes me physically sick/Other (Delete as appropriate)

Where "other", please specify:

4.) What improvements could I make?

5.) Other comments:

Maybe I've just been rejected without any explanation too many times now, but I can't help thinking that getting the above questions printed up on comment cards to hand to any future dates is the singular greatest idea I've ever had.

I get asked out about once a year; in fact, last week's date may actually have fallen EXACTLY 12 months after the last one I had, in Berlin. That'd be freaky. And both times exactly the same thing - we had really long, deep conversations, we laughed a lot, we had tonnes in common, we seemed to get on really well. In the case of the latter, there was an amount of slightly inappropriate touching. And then he says he'll call, and he doesn't.

I'm just so sick of the disconnect between my perception of things and the reality. I can never stop being confused by thinking things went really well when the guy obviusly thinks I'm a douche. Couldn't we all just be more honest? God, if a man stood up midway through a date with me and said "You're not as pretty as I thought you were when I was drunk, and your left wing politics bore me, I'm off", I think I'd applaud.

I am not actually that insecure about my looks. I know I'm passably attractive in a weird, fashiony kind of way. I'd far rather be commercially, classically pretty like Victoria's Secret models or my friend Hanna; the kind of pretty no one can argue with, but I know I only scare maybe 60% of the horses. And my friends keep telling me I'm hot (although friends are liable to lie on this front), and scientific theory has long held that we're generally friends with people on the same scale of attractiveness as ourselves and my friends are all coupled up; so either I'm an anaomoly, or it's my horrible personality that's to blame.

Obviously there is something wrong with me, and if I knew what it was, maybe I could do something about it. And I know my friends are all going to say "there's nothing wrong with you, he's a twat", but it's a simple numbers game. Not every bloke I've ever been rejected by can have been a complete twat. It's like with email boy. I'm tortured by the dichotomy of the fact that I fell for him because he's so motherfucking nice, and the fact that I recognise he has treated me in a pretty horrible way. But if you asked his girlfriend of god knows how many years, of course she would say he was lovely, and not at all a twat. It was email boy who said once, not to me, but to one of the other models, that men treated her badly because she allowed them to. Obviously there is something about my character that is the equivilent of my having "doormat/disposable" or just "horrible person" tattoed on my forehead.

It sucks that it is not generally the done thing to ring men up ask them why they hate you. Because I need to know what is wrong with me, because I don't think I can face the idea of going through this again. I know most of you wont believe me when I say this, but I'm an eternal fucking optimist. Every time I meet a man I idiotically think he really likes me, and every time he just ditches me, and I end up getting crushed again. I genuinely don't think if anybody asked me out again I would say yes, no matter how I felt about them, because there's no point, I KNOW the same thing will happen again, it'll be one date, and I'll never hear from him again.

Nothing my friends can say can make me feel better. People tell me that I'm smart and talented, as though that somehow makes up for the fact that men find me about as attractive as a recently exhumed corpse. Men don't give a shit that I got all A*s in my GCSEs, or that my Popdash article was the most read for one whole week. I'd far rather be thick and happy than clever enough to realise I'm miserable.

I don't mean to sound like I don't appreciate my friends and their tireless efforts to bolster my self-esteem. I'd probably be in the nuthouse without them. That I probably belong in the nuthouse anyway being beside the point. I just really, really want to know what's so fundamentally unloveable about me. I feel totally worthless at the minute; I've been bursting into tears all day. I feel supremely lucky to have my job, because after so many menial office jobs, this is the first job I've had where I literally do not have the time to get sad, and that's probably what's keeping me from being more depressed than I already am.

So yes, I think this is a splendid idea.

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