23October2026 Diary
Why should I be a granddads caretaker? What do you expect from me a flat? A motor? Thats how she put it, flatout, looking at me as if I were a discount item left on a supermarket shelf, past its sellby date. In that moment, for the first time in years, I wondered whether the world had truly turned upside down at 43 I was already being lumped into the oldtimer category, and she wasnt shy about stamping a price on the relationship, no flirtation, no games.
Im 43, never married. Ive had two longterm cohabitations, each lasting about two years, ordinary and uneventful. They ended amicably, no alimony, no exfiles, no baggage. I always thought that was a plus a clean slate. Yet in todays dating market that seems to be read as a red flag, as if a man whos never been married must be defective, some uncertified product.
I decided it was time. I want a family, a partner attractive, wellkept, young. I wont lie: Id like someone under 28, someone who looks good and makes my mates, without a hint of envy, ask Where did you find her? I see nothing shameful in that. Im a man who earns, own a flat in Manchester, drive a Ford Fiesta, have a steady income, dont drink or smoke, keep fit, and, in my mind, Im a decent prospect on the market.
But the market, as Ive learned, runs on different rules now, and Im not the buyer Im the product, and not a hot one at that.
**First date** Amelia, 26, met through a dating app. We chatted for a week; she laughed at my jokes, wrote youre interesting, its easy being with you. I thought it might be a straightforward connection, no strings attached. The moment we met, the conversation shifted into a different lane.
She gave me a quick onceover, then, after about fifteen minutes, asked:
What car do you drive?
I answered.
Do you own a flat?
I answered.
How much do you earn?
At that point I realised it wasnt a date at all it was an interview, and I was the asset being checked for liquidity. She asked each question with the same calm shed use when offering tea or coffee.
When I turned the tables and asked, What are you looking for?, she smiled and said,
Comfort. I want a man who can meet my needs.
Plain as a price list, no hint, no coyness.
**Second date** Sophie, 24, a pictureperfect, polished young woman the kind I used to think was worth the effort. We met at a restaurant in Leeds; I picked up the tab, as expected. The conversation drifted toward the future.
I want a family, kids, a stable relationship, I said.
She looked at me, unruffled, and replied,
And what can you give me?
I was taken aback.
What do you mean?
She pressed on, You want a younger woman, right? She has options. Why should she choose you?
Thats when the real talk began.
Youre older, she continued, so you have to compensate with resources a flat, a car, money, a certain lifestyle. Otherwise whats the point?
I tried to argue that it wasnt just about cash, that feelings, compatibility, respect mattered, but she shrugged,
Those are secondary. The basics come first.
Then, in her calm voice, she repeated the line that had haunted me:
Why should I be a granddads caretaker?
She said it like a statement, not an insult, and added, If you want a young woman, youve got to match her expectations.
I left that evening feeling like Id been taken apart on a workbench and priced on a market board.
What bothers me most isnt the oddball encounters; its the system.
**Third encounter** a 27yearold named Poppy. Wed been textmessaging for a while; shed initiated the chat, asked flirty questions, and I started to think maybe not everything was bleak. Then she sent a voice note:
Listen, lets be honest. I need a man who will support me. I dont want to grind all my life. If youre not ready, dont waste either of our time.
I asked, What do you offer in return?
She laughed, Me? Im offering myself.
Thats when something clicked inside me. Myself as a commodity, a service, an allinclusive package with payment up front. The absurd part is how unapologetically they present it, without shame or hesitation. They set the terms straightaway; if you dont meet them, youre simply written off, no drama, no regret, just a rejected option.
And the ironic part? I used to think the problem lay with women that theyd become spoiled, that their demands were inflated, that they were mercenary. The more dates I attended, the more I realised the issue wasnt exclusively theirs.
I walked into this market expecting to choose, yet I found myself being chosen. I wanted a young, attractive, convenient partner. They wanted a financially secure, stable, profitable one. I chased looks; they chased resources. In that logic, everything is honest, just uncomfortable.
It hit me that Im not a unique, special catch; Im one of many items being compared, evaluated, discarded. The hardest blow isnt the rejections; its the moment you realise youre being seen not as a man, but as a product with conditions, limitations, an expiration date. Perhaps Im simply too late.
Maybe I should have started building a family earlier, before everything became a transaction. Maybe I lingered too long in the illusion that time was on my side.
Now the reality is plain: to get what you want, you either meet the markets demands or change what youre looking for. Im not ready for either.
**Lesson:** Ive learned that in a world where relationships are catalogued like goods, the only way to stay true to yourself is to stop treating love as a purchase and start valuing the intangible honesty, mutual respect, and the willingness to walk away when the price tag becomes too high.
