Just swipe everyone! Five stars.
Reluctantly I sign up, using two recent-ish photos of me from Instagram: one from the last office Christmas party (taken before Rupert tripped and splattered eggnog down my velvet dress) and one from a long weekend in Ibiza with my friend Ashley. Five weeks later, she selfishly decided to move there. Mum joked that it was an over-the-top way to just stop hanging out with me and I laughed while briefly considering that it might be true.
I set my age range from forty to fifty. At forty-five, anyone under forty seems immature and even with only a five-year age gap, over fifty feels like they might age rapidly and expire right in front me. As I scroll, I realise just how right I was. It’s also obvious that ninety-nine per cent of these men are just looking for a hook-up. Which is fair enough but for the love of God, please trim your nose hair before taking a selfie.
Using the same photos, I sign up for Bumble, where women always make the first move. Hinge is touted as an app for serious relationships but they want six photos. I consider emailing to ask whether they all have to be me exclusively because I have quite an extensive collection of cats I met in Greece in 1998.
Next is Plenty of Fish but after a quick snoop I decide to draw the line here. I’d barely chosen a username before the messages flooded in from men askingwot u up too, presumably with one hand. Match want me to pay for the privilege of messaging, so I figure I’ll just see how these go first and save my money for my inevitable therapy.
I pull up the page with Alex Steward’s article, looking for more inspiration. There must be other online ways to find human beings who don’t want to debate opera or move to Ibiza.
I began looking outside of my own interests. I wasn’t into pottery but that doesn’t mean I’m not interested in someone who is.
He makes a good point. I hate bagpipes. Maybe there’s someone perfect out there that happens to play the bagpipes.
Dating for musicians. Does playing the recorder in primary school count? I think it does.
Dating for the over-forties. I don’t want to be over forty but maybe someone does? I can respect that.
Just as I’m wearily ending my search, I see a link for the TV showFirst Dates.First Dates? Would I have the nerve to go on television and eat my way into a public refusal? No. But this is the new me. A woman who will risk her dignity and say yes when every fibre of her being is screaming no. I fill in the form and press send. If nothing else, I’ll wow the nation with my astonishing ability to spill food that hasn’t even reached the table yet.
I bring Alex Steward’s article back up and read over it again. He makes this sound so easy. Fun even. I bet he looks like Theo James. How could dating not be fun if you look like Theo James? At the bottom of the article it says:
Alex Steward is a writer and fitness coach.
Fitness coach. Ugh. I bet he’s shredded as well. This doesn’t give me hope that us mere mortals will have the same luck. I open Instagram and start searching.
There are more Alex Stewards than I thought there would be and at least five with private accounts. However, I find one that has writer in his bio but a profile photo with five other people: three guys and two girls. No help with the tags either, unless he’s secretly a female synchronised swimmer from Ohio. I turn to Google to see if I can find anything.
Alex Steward writer 365 days of yes.
I skip past the article, trying to find anything else he might have written. Unless this was the only thing he’s ever written. Finally, I find another article, explaining the difference between a fitness coach and a personal trainer. At the end– Alex Steward. Writer and fitness coach. No photo to compare to the accounts on Instagram but there is an email address. Bingo.
To:Alex Steward
Subject:Hello!
Dear Alex,
I just wanted to send you a quick message to say how funny and inspiring I found your ‘365 Days of Yes’ article. (Unless you’re the wrong Alex Steward, in which case, I now know the difference between a fitness coach and a personal trainer, so thanks.)
Anyway, despite my initial trepidation and the constant need to violently gag at the thought of this, I’ve decided to follow your advice and see if this 365-day plan works for me. Can’t hurt, right? I just thought you might like to know that your words have inspired action.
Best,
Sophie
PS It takes a brave man to publicly admit to using android. (Just kidding, I’m Samsung forever.)
Chapter 5
Today’s Krispy Kreme box is demolished by 11 a.m., quite possibly a new record. My professional, highly educated colleagues turn into ravenous degenerates, clambering over each other at the mere whiff of a doughnut. I am no different. It was a fight to the death for the last Original Glazed.
With my first Zoom meeting of the morning done, it occurs to me that my mum still hasn’t responded to any of my calls. If they had any ravines in central London, I could have been stuck at the bottom of one and she’d never know. Vexed, I try her again.
‘So your mobile does work!’ I exclaim as my mum finally answers. ‘Why haven’t you called me back?’
‘Ali? Is that you?’
