Single Girl Problems

Almost 10 years ago to the day, I started a blog with the same title as this post. I was coming out of a marriage that had also lasted almost a decade, and I was horrified at what dating looked like, having been with same man since the early noughties.

It’s 2026, and things have only gotten worse for us single gals!

I've pretty much maintained my single status, having met two different men within the first few years who both expressed a desire for children. I knew I didn’t want to add to the two I’d had with my husband, but among my many emotional struggles people pleasing was top of the list. So when the second partner said he’d seen a kid in a pram earlier that day and really wished it could be us, I booked in with gynaecology at the next opportunity.

At the appointment, a man with a beard came out and called my name. When I saw him look me up and down, I thought “he’s going to tell me I’m too young to get sterilised.” My illusions were quickly shattered when he told me in the most deadpan manner that no-one would operate on me at my current weight.

Now, I could go off on a tangent about men deciding on women’s fertility issues or the hurtful way fat people are treated day in day out, but this post is about single life in the 2020s. Instead I’ll tell you about my most recent flirtation.

I had a week off work towards the end of last year and out of sheer boredom I signed up for Bumble. Very few people prompted me to hit like, but one guy seemed to have a down-to-earth profile. He was a bit younger but, in my experience, older men want younger women and younger men want older ladies. Is it just me?

Anyway, we exchanged a few messages but then I got busy and didn’t check into the app for about a week. In that time, he’d sent a message suggesting we swap numbers, then another saying he hadn’t meant to scare me off and he was happy to chat on the app. Finally after a couple of days, he sent a simple “How are you?” Given that all three messages were short and sweet with no undertone of annoyance at my absence and that he seemed invested enough to persist without pressuring, it all seemed to point to something worth pursuing. I explained my absence and gave him my number. Very quickly we were talking on WhatsApp, and it was quite effortless. He seemed every bit my equal in maturity and intelligence despite being 9 years younger and free of the life experiences that tend to make you wise; the hard way.

When we finally met face to face the chemistry was instant and the first kiss left me weak at the knees. Quite a feat considering I’m nearly 50!

Still, something was niggling at me. It was a conversation we had that same night about a hand tattoo I’d noticed. He was quick to shoot me down when I suggested possible meanings behind it. And while he explained the origins of the symbols, I realised he hadn’t been specific about what his chosen combo meant. It then occurred to me it wasn’t the first instance of this in our short acquaintance.

Whilst still chatting on Bumble, I had suggested that he came from a musical family or had perhaps been close to an older relative, as he seemed really knowledgeable about musical theatre. He responded “nope, you’re miles out” but didn’t explain where the knowledge came from. Truth be told, I thought maybe I was talking to a bot. When we switched to WhatsApp and shared voice notes I dismissed the exchange and filed it away.

I’m not sure what the right word is: cagey, secretive, aloof? But he really didn’t respond well to personal questions nor show willing to share anything personal. I made a mental note – proceed with caution.

If I’m honest, the kiss along with the post shower pics he’d sent, towel wrapped at the perfect spot to be ever-so-tantalising, were what stopped me dismissing him altogether. While I’m being honest, my M.O. is to jump ship at the slightest sign of anything disagreeable. My relationship experiences have made me very risk averse, but I have an amazing ability to separate the emotional from the physical, as well as being the total opposite of risk averse when it comes to the physical!

At a friend’s house over Christmas, I was sharing my concerns when I suddenly realised he’d given me enough information to find out what his tattoo meant. I took to the internet where my fears were confirmed.

If you are familiar with the hobo code, symbols scratched into fence posts to tell other travellers which homes were generous, religious, had a dog and so on, he’d told me that was where his tattoo came from, calling them chicken scratchings. It didn’t take me long to discover that his duo of symbols meant “a dangerous man lives here.”

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The instant I saw it I thought I had probably met my first psychopath, and I didn’t have that on my bucket list.

In the end I told him that I wasn’t sure I’d feel safe being alone with him as a self-confessed angry person. He said he wouldn’t describe himself as that. I replied, “you literally have it tattooed on you!” He was amazingly unfazed by my admission. I’ve watched enough true crime to know that remaining calm in the face of a serious accusation is most often an indicator of guilt. Innocent people protest, ask questions. Guilty people stay calm because they think that makes them look innocent. I’d been braced for anger, or at least indignance. What I got was nonchalance.

I concluded the conversation telling him I didn’t think it was worth pursuing. When he messaged me a week or so later, I hit block.

But I have kept hold of those post shower selfies.