For a change, I’ve actually been going out and attempting to enact my fantasies of finding my next true love instead of writing about it in bed with my vibrator. I therefore owe many of you an update though on my Tinder escapades. You’ll possibly recall, there was Tinder Girl #5 (first post about her here). This is a gem of a Tinder story and actually started way back in June. We went on enough dates to stop counting them and she kept a toothbrush at mine. She knew her way around my kitchen and she was excellent at sex. She met some of my friends at pub quiz, and I met some of hers. Hers were all a bit weird and didn’t know the answers. I don’t like people who don’t win. I celebrated her little sister’s A level results with the two of them and had won approval. She worked with Widow Bestie (coincidence) in a very noble sounding job in public service so I knew she wasn’t a total fraudster. She was beautiful and used to be a child model (now queen of selfies). Most appealingly, she was amazingly sensitive in her comments about recognising that I will always love my late wife. What’s not to like?
Very sadly, her mother died while we were seeing one another. It was expected, and we talked a lot together about love, grief and forgiveness. It was all a bit weird and fast, and I was well aware her grief meant she was just not in the right mindset for any sort of serious relationship. So, I kept on swiping right with others and I distanced myself. At no point did I feel exclusively hers and I didn’t want it to go anywhere so it’s a bit odd that I managed to get three months down the line before ditching her in a very carefully constructed whatsapp message.
I guess that with Tinder Girl #4, formerly known as Future Wife, literally disappearing overnight once I told her about the whole dead wife thing (read about that here), I was rather scared of rejection. Actually, that’s exactly what it is. I’m scared of rejection. Consequently, with Tinder Girl #5, I overcompensated with ‘OH MY GOD YOU DON’T THINK I’M A PARIAH YOU’LL DO FOR WIFE 2!’ in response to her attempt at understanding of my grief.
There were warning signs that it wasn’t going to work:
- She’d never watched the Lion King
- She talked sadly about losing her faith in God
- She didn’t know all the words to Wannabe
- She didn’t like penetrative sex
- She was home schooled
In my crazy widow brain, I was thinking, ‘Did she grow up in a cult?!’
Turns out, yes. SHE GREW UP IN A CULT.
How the woman survived this is utterly remarkable and I wish her all the best with her future journey, but I don’t have the strength to help someone through any psychological issues relating to that unimaginable upbringing. Pot. Kettle. Widow shit blah blah. Yes, I know. I did some reading about it. Just like I hope my dates do some reading about what it’s like to date a widow, I did some on what it’s like to date a person who grew up abused by a cult. I read different perspectives. None of it was positive. I made as educated a decision as I could.
Sigh. To be fair, I didn’t just part ways because of the cult thing – she also didn’t like coriander and this is a regular feature in my cooking so it just wouldn’t have worked.
Don’t worry, I’ve got another two women on the go, both of whom are wonderful, gorgeous and total opposites. It’s fun although I’m running out of nice underwear. I’ve already checked and neither of them grew up in a cult. Phew.