Shattered Dreams and the Next Big Date!

Gina Capri

3 July 2009

So, when we finally split from our beloveds, dreams shattered, but a quiet little hope that the next one is going to be ‘the one’. The man who ‘gets you’, knows when you are feeling sad and hugs you, knows when you need to put your feet up and whisks you off to a health farm, knows when you are pre-menstrual and just backs off and leaves you to steam.

We hope that this man will be intelligent, witty, all our friends will adore him, as well as our mother and children. He will be generous and loving …..right, you get the picture I wont go on.

You also know that this time there will be NO compromise, this time you will wait for Mr.Right.


Of course you join a dating site, and of course you get masses of attention, because you are unfortunately ‘fresh meat’.

So the emails, winks, hotlists, favourites blah blah keep coming, and you realise that you are probably one of the most stunning creatures on earth, and really, what a fool your ex-husband was to just let you slip through his fingers. Not only do you get inundated, you get messages say how beautiful you are, how come you are still single, you cant be that age, what an amazing face you have and what a wonderful person you must be! WOW!

So thus begins the sifting process, and as you are clearly such a fabulous creature you are in pick and choose mode. Too fat, too thin, too short, too ugly, horrible shirt, no picture, cocky, smarmy, toady, bad haircut, rubbish job, too far away, too close. Finally you have narrowed it down to about 5 - a good number.

You reply to the 5 saying ‘hello’ thanks etc. You wait.


You get 3 replies, slightly disappointing, but three is still a good number.
You speak to one on the phone, he has a speech impediment, you don’t do speech impediments, so you politely make your excuses.

The second one is texting you making you smile, very amusing, and although you haven’t spoken to him, you like his picture, his sense of humour and have a good feeling about him, so agree to meet for a drink.


You spend ages getting ready, not too tarty, not trying too hard (its only a pub), not frumpy, you colour in your bags, get the grey hair covered, hoist the boobs into a good bra, high heels, suck you in knickers and after many hours of preparation you are just about hot to trot. Nearly anyway check the lippy about a zillion times, ask the kids if you look alright, phone your friends to tell them what you are wearing, drive round to a friend to see if you look alright, stand in front of the goldfish and ask their opinion (silence is assent) and finally the dog who has the last say, she licks your hand – a good omen indeed, she approves.

So off you go, heart in your mouth, arrive a little early and buy a drink for dutch courage and scan the bar……a man walks in vaguely resembling the picture, except, he is about 10 stone heavier, 10 years older, has clearly lied about his height and is about 2 foot shorter and what had been a full head of hair would now make friar tuck look like an advert for l’oreal.
You look around madly for an exit, you cannot sit with this man, you cannot be seen with him your heart is pounding, it’s the flight or fight instinct kicking in.

He spots you, comes over you smile politely he offers you a drink, you agree because you need him to move away, so you can compose your face from a grimace to a normal smile.
You make small talk and wait for the end of the evening so you can make your escape. Of course he is bowled over by you, wants to see you again, thinks you are charming and far better than your picture. Words escape you, there is nothing to say. The grimace reappears, you agree to chat another time and then sprint as fast as your heels will take you.

You never ever answer his calls or texts again.

So only one left, he doesn’t call ever.

Back to the website, now you are a little less discerning, you must be more pragmatic, positive, less judgemental, they may be a little over weight, but they are in their 50’s for goodness sake – and you know that you have a mummy tummy and are less than perfect yourself under the incredible sucking in knickers.

So you decide to try again, and reply to some of the others, after all, its just a date and a chat, not marriage. Needless to say, similar scenarios ensue, and you end up again with no-one.
This is when a small trickle of desperation begins to kick in, a mild panic that perhaps, you are a little old, not quite as fabulous as you first thought and maybe just meeting a nice man is all you want. That’s it, someone nice and kind. Perfect.

You enter phase 3 of your search.