I just came out of a six-day relationship. Yeah you heard right. After being hung up on one guy for almost two years, we fell for this guy SO hard.

Tinder has a lot to answer for. But this guy, let’s call him Dick, because I think he had one, despite having no balls, seemed too good to be true. We chat on the app, exchange numbers, the usual. No dickpics are sent, which is good because this is a family show and we never ask for those. Who does? What no guy, and I mean NO GUY seems to realise is that the sight of an angry veiny hard penis does not turn a girl on. It’s the sight of it in its natural state which is the golden ticket.

I’ll leave you with that bombshell, sir.

So yeah we progress to Dick calling me, which again is very unusual in these horrific times. He’s in the car, he keeps it brief and I’m grinning from ear to ear. He’s not been creepy, or suggestive or weird. And we haven’t talked about sex.

For the following few days, I get a “good morning” and “night night” text. It’s quite a lot to deal with when you haven’t had any messages from anyone of the opposite sex in any regularity. Apart from the fuckboy texts which are usually “hey”, “you there” or “I’m horny”. Some of his I reply to, some I don’t. I get a cheeky naked pic in the shower from him but no D, and I don’t reciprocate.

{One day we will write a thesis on male communications, or lack thereof in the digital age and how different they are to females. But this is not the day. Oh no}

On the call, he’s asked me if I’m free Sunday. Now I realise we are in the middle of a pandemic but at that point last week we were not on lockdown. I repeat, not on lockdown.

We arrange to meet at a place in town, but by Friday night we are on semi-lockdown. So we switch to a walk. For me this is a delight – I can’t even get a guy to buy me a drink unless he’s fucking me, so a walk is something. It shows me he’s human.

Sunday morning, I just get the feeling that this isn’t going to happen. I’m a big girl now and I can sense it. And then the text comes through. I guess at least he’s given me notice, but he’s saying he’s ill.

Fair enough, we are on lockdown and you’re not supposed to kiss and maybe this was all a stupid idea anyway. We’re not in the 1940’s and courtship is fucked. I’m not not going to get laid until the Autumn and it hurts. Boo fucking hoo.

And then it’s pretty much crickets. The morning and evening greetings stop. Is he really ill? Married? Fucking around?

And then today he’s suddenly back.

We are way too old for this shit that’s for sure.