After four months of exchanging messages, I finally agreed to meet a 52-year-old gentlemanhe started the conversation with five complaints.
They say the anticipation of an event is often sweeter than the event itself. In the story of Evelyn, the wait extended over nearly four months and turned into a peculiar online series with new chapters every day.
During that time, she learned Toms tastes inside out, memorised the names of his childhood mates, and even stopped raising an eyebrow at his habit of adding three dots after each good morning.
Evelyn was forty-fivethe age when you go on a date not wide-eyed with nerves, but with the wry curiosity of an explorer. Lets see what specimen I get this time, she mused while getting ready.
She was the sort of woman who could wear a simple wool jumper and carry it like a ceremonial robe, and her self-deprecating humour was a shield against most awkward moments.
The Bottle
Tom, whod only just turned fifty-two, came across in messages as a serious, thoughtful man, with a hint of wit andmost appealingreliable.
At our age, Evelyn, he wrote late in the evenings, people arent looking for fireworks, but warmth. I want someone who understands me without words.
Without words it is, Evelyn scoffed, applying mascara. Still, the words spoken should never make you want to leave immediately.
They set the meet in a small, cosy café with gentle lighting and a whiff of cinnamon. Evelyn arrived on timecomposed, confident, and hoping for a pleasant evening. She looked immaculate.
Tom turned up five minutes later. In person, he was a touch shorter than in his photos and looked as if hed just found a glaring error in a balance sheet.
He sat opposite, gave a brief smile, and greeted her.
No compliment, no warm so happy to meet you.
Tom scrutinised Evelyn as if conducting an inspection. Then he suggested coffee and dessertboth agreed.
Evelyn, he began, using the tone of an assistant head before a staff meeting, Ive analysed our correspondence for nearly four months, and now, seeing you in the flesh, I feel compelled to set out some important points. I have five complaints.
Something inside Evelyn quietly tinkledthe sound good mood makes as it shatters. She rested her chin in her palm and nodded.
Five complaints? Sounds intriguing. Im all ears.
Tom missed the sarcasm and ticked off his first finger.
On one of your photos, the one in the blue dress, your figure looks different. Now I see youre… fuller. That could mislead a man. At our age, a woman should be more honest.
Evelyn smirked inwardly. Fuller is progressthanks for not saying statuesque.
The Second Complaint: response speed
You sometimes reply too slowly. For example, three weeks ago, I messaged at 2:15pm, and you responded only at 4:40pm. Men dislike waiting. Its disrespectful.
I think I was in a meeting then she began, but Tom ticked another finger.
Third Complaint: meeting venue
Why are we here? This place is far too pretentious. I suggested something simpler. Such a choice reflects a tendency for showy consumption.
Evelyn eyed her latte and briefly fantasised about pouring it over Toms head. Curiosity, however, won out.
Fourth Complaint: attire
Why the dress? Were just having coffee. Its too flashy for the afternoon. Jewellerys unnecessary. A woman should attract with depth, not sparkle. At my age, Im after substance, not a window display.
Fifth Complaint: independence
You picked the restaurant yourself. You say Ill do it myself. You dont let a man feel manly. I need a woman who asks advice, not flaunts her independence. If were together, youll have to change.
He finished and crossed his arms, clearly anticipating either confession or gratitude for his honesty.
Evelyn looked at him and realised: four months of chatting was just a mask for a meticulous manipulator. He wasnt after warmthhe was shopping for someone to fuel his ego.
You know, Tom, she said softly, almost kindly, Ive done some analysing as well. Five minutes was plenty.
Whats your conclusion? he squinted.
Youre a rare specimen. Youve crossed the city, only to hand an invoice to a woman youve just metfor her taste, appearance, and right to be herself. Thats a special kind of self-assurance.
Tom frowned.
Im just being honest.
No, Evelyn shook her head. Youre not honest. Youre unhappy and trying to measure the world with a crooked ruler. My photos bother you? Go to a museumthe exhibits dont change. I reply slow? Buy a Tamagotchi. Dont like the dress? I wore it for me, not for you.
She stood, adjusted her bag, and calmly met his eye.
And finally, if your ego crumbles at the word myself, you need rehab, not romance. At forty-five, I value my time too much to spend it on someone who starts an acquaintance by critiquing me.
Where are you off to? The coffee? mumbled Tom.
Finish your coffee yourself. Itll save your resources. And a tip: if you want someone hanging on your every word, make an appointment with a dentist.
Back home, Evelyn immediately blocked Tom on every platform. At her age, comfort means not just a blanket and quiet, but a phone free from people trying to squeeze you into their warped mould.
Looking back, I have to admit: sometimes, a four-month build-up ends in five swift disappointments. Ive learnt that when someone starts by tallying up whats wrong with you, the only bill you should pay is for your own coffeeand the price is worth it for your peace of mind.
