I met 32 via Match. She was attractive, young, and something made me think – her profile name – that she was into and supported the same football team that I did. Which in fact, turned out to be true. And when I say football, I mean soccer. This was a turn on! I don’t watch sport or really care for American football nor baseball, but proper football I do like. Football supporters operate at a different level. It’s a higher intellect. Worldly. Trans-continental. A mutual love of the beautiful game. It’s brilliant. 🙂
Some messaging, some texts, and we arrange to meet.
It was a blustery hot August evening. She walked in and she looked great. Good style, great smile, well put together – she took care of herself. As we had wine and tapas the conversation flowed quite easily, and a bit flirty. We had a lot of common interests – a professional career, music (she was also a musician) and musical tastes, and of course stories about our (football) club.
We discovered that we had a particular tattoo in common. I don’t have a load of tattoos, so this was very rare, and kind of cool. We stepped outside into the parking lot, and I walked her to her car. She stopped to pull up her blouse, lowering her skirt waistband slightly, and showed me the tattoo. I’m the worst at picking up signs – the absolute worst! – but I took this as a good sign. We made out for five minutes or so, in the parking lot, in the heat, and then said our goodbyes, agreeing to go for date 2. Date 1 was pretty great.
The next few days saw a flurry of fun flirty texts. We had talked about both needing to get out of town, and talked about making a quick break together for a long weekend. We made plans to meet at the weekend. It was super fun, exciting. Sunday came and I sent her a text to confirm time and place. An hour or so later she texted back.
Well shit. That was a bummer. I responded, and wished her the best. We had connected – or so I had thought – and that’s what was most disappointing – this was someone I could see hanging out with. My hypothesis – she met someone else, or wanted to have kids, or had suddenly become a Manchester United supporter (also known as Scum)? I don’t know. But I didn’t dwell on it and moved on.
I ended up seeing 32 out and about this summer. I walked up to say hello. She was a bit flustered – she and her ‘younger boyfriend’ had been fighting, and she was trying to find him. We chatted for a few moments, and I realized she was in a bit of a state, so again wished her all the best, and a good night.