Chapter Twenty-Five
Taking into consideration what Jim the counsellor said, Sasha decided to take small steps with the dating.
Small step number one was to sit down and upload her dating profile. She searched through Facebook to find a selection of photos which might generate some interest. Smiley photos, photos of her singing karaoke, photos of her playing air guitar, photos that would hopefully make her look fun and approachable, capable of having a good time on a night out. She pushed the thought to the back of her mind that actually, the truth was that it had been well over four years since she’d sung karaoke. Certainly the last year had consisted of her on the sofa, watching copious DVD box sets and playing computer games. Was she going to confess to that on her dating profile? Was she hell!
She wrote instead about all the bands she’d been to see, hoping that it would spark off conversation about music. She wrote that she enjoyed cooking and holding dinner parties, hoping that it would appeal to a need for a comforting domestic goddess. And she showed a few photos that were slightly more revealing – a short skirt, a tight top. She ignored the inner critic that told her that she’d probably put on two stone since those photos. Hovering her finger over the upload profile button, she felt a momentary wave of fear run through her.
What if one of Kirk’s friends saw her profile? What if they showed it to him? What if he guffawed at it, saying, ‘Ha! She’s still single. I had someone lined up straight after her and yet she’s still single.’
She could feel the waves of embarrassment and shame wash over her. But then she thought of the counsellor’s words. ‘If you keep doing the same thing over and over, you’ll keep getting the same results.’ Was she really going to let Kirk’s (imaginary) opinion of her stop her from moving on? Hadn’t he done enough damage? Besides, she was desperate to tick a box – to say that she had taken one small step today. Thank goodness for her OCD need to be organised, she thought.
She pressed update, then closed the computer down, vowing to have a look in a few hours’ time to see if she had any responses.
Imagine her surprise when, logging onto her account later that evening, a red box hovering over her messages said fifteen. Fifteen new messages! She felt her heart soar with excitement and gratitude. Fifteen men want to meet me! My word.
She opened the first message to view a picture of a red sports car. The message simply read “Hi, how r u.”
Really? Sasha thought. Blokes really thought it was acceptable to just put a picture up of a car and write a one-liner message? Reading his profile, it simply said, ‘I’ll fill this in later.’ Sasha immediately pressed delete on his message. If this guy couldn’t even be bothered to write a half-decent profile or post a photo of himself, he was highly unlikely to make much of an effort on a date.
So now she was down to fourteen messages. She clicked on the next one. No harm, but this guy had only a face a mother could love. Perhaps the photo would have been better if he’d got someone else to take it. But the angle was all wrong, he was staring down at the camera, the lighting was bad, he wasn’t smiling and really, in Sasha’s opinion, he looked like a convicted criminal. His profile read, ‘Does any1 actually meet up on this thing?’
That was it. One negative, self-pitying sentence that showed that clearly he had had zero luck so far. Sasha pressed delete again.
On and on this went, and her heart began to sink further with each pitiful message. Dangerously, her thoughts began to drift back to when she and Kirk had first met. The magical, romantic way in which they’d beautifully collided. As though it was meant to be. As though the stars had worked in their favour to bring them to each other.
A mutual friend had introduced them. Kirk smiled at her as though she was the most important person in the room. As though he only had ears for what she had to say. As though he found her really interesting. It was a far cry from ‘Hi how r u’ and ‘I’ll fill this in later.’
But she didn’t want to think about that just now. This wasn’t the purpose of this exercise. This was about taking one small step forward; not wallowing in the past to make herself feel more depressed than ever.
Thankfully, one of the messages looked promising. He’d taken the time to write a lengthy profile and upload photos of himself. He had a sort of ‘musician’ look about him – slicked-back hair, a pout, skinny jeans. Indeed, his profile talked about his love of music gigs and gave a list of bands he’d been to see. His message was chatty and informal and he asked her about her own favourite bands and who she’d been to see recently.
Having discovered they’d been at the same gig a year ago, she joked that he should’ve come over and said hello. He joked back, “My bad. Perhaps I could make up for lost time and take you out for a coffee?” It was effortless, easy-going and above all, she could give herself a tick for another small step achieved: been asked out on a date. Her heart soared with hope.
The date was arranged for that Saturday afternoon in Caffé Nero.
Interestingly, Sasha noticed that his texts became constant after that – almost on an hourly basis.
“Hi, how are you doing?” he’d asked.
“Grand thanks, just chilling and watching TV. What are you up to?” she’d reply.
“Same.” He’d answered.
Then an hour later, he’d texted “Hi, how’s it going? What are you up to now?”
Was this guy for real? Did he really need to know what she was up to every hour?
It was as if the sub-text was; ‘Hi, I’m still here. Do you remember me?’ and ‘Hi, it’s me again, please reassure me you haven’t forgotten me?’
Sasha couldn’t help but feel a little claustrophobic about this. Clearly this guy was very needy, if he wanted constant reassurance from her.
As if he didn’t come across as needy enough, Sasha was even more surprised to open a text from him to find a playlist he had made for her! She could’ve sworn that when a guy made a playlist for a girl, this was a sign that he was falling in love with her big-style. Had he really devoted the time and energy to compile a list of songs especially for her, when they hadn’t even met yet? Sasha had to admit, it unnerved her. It made her feel under pressure; as though he had heaped tons of expectations on her that she would like him and they would hit it off.
Or, another voice chided Sasha, perhaps it was her problem. Hadn’t it always been the case that she had run away from ‘nice’ guys? Guys that were too available, too giving, too needy. She didn’t feel comfortable around them. Undeserving. As though she didn’t merit all this attention and praise. Give her an out-and-out bastard any day. She felt much more comfortable around guys who were off-hand, unavailable and dangerous.
She was determined to meet this guy for a date. She wanted to tick off another small step. She wanted to give a nice guy a chance for a change.
So she dealt with every text on the hour; updating him on a regular basis to tell him what she was up to; stopping short of telling him that she was on the toilet or wiping her bum.
By the time Saturday rolled around, she felt like any mystery about the guy had completely vanished. But she turned up anyway, with her low expectations and her high heels; more to tick a box than anything else.
She saw him in the queue – his spiky hair and his skinny jeans. His wide smile, showing his keen demeanour. He was bigger; much bigger than his photos. His face was much fuller, his belly much more rounded, protruding over the waist of his jeans. Inwardly she chided herself. Hadn’t she too, posted photos of the slimmer version of her? Perhaps he too was noticing the extra weight around her face and the clothes which were baggier than the skimpy ones in her photos.
She told herself to just enjoy the coffee – enjoy the warmth of the frothy cappuccino on her lips; the bite of the chocolate tray bake. He was polite enough; friendly, chatty. They people-watched, commenting on the passers-by – making up little stories about what their life was like.
It was fun. She was having fun, she thought. She was away from her sofa. She was sitting in a window seat in a café. She was watching the world go by. She was being part of life.
It was just a shame she didn’t fancy him.