Two years ago, I was in a dating slump. I was still recovering from the heartbreak of a fling, and hadn’t really put myself back on the market properly.
But, with the encouragement of a few dating apps, along with my housemate’s recommendation that I get over my past romance, I ventured out on a date at one of my then local pubs in Clapham Junction.
Now, I don’t consider myself a shallow person, as I value intelligence and that elusive thing we call *the spark* much more than I do big arms and rock-hard abs (though I certainly don’t mind those either), but there were a few attributes I couldn’t quite shake about my date.
For instance, his Friar Tuck hairstyle.
He was also pretty lanky and overall quite awkward, miles away from my usual confident ‘big, buff and bearded’ date type.
But, he was a nice guy, so at the end of our date – after a very awkward almost-kiss – when he texted me to meet up for a second time, I agreed.
Our second date was more of the same. We met for a beer and a burger at another pub, the chat was slow and not dull, but still not fun. I snuck away pretty quickly this time around and didn’t want to have to dodge another kiss.
Afterwards, when he asked for a third date, I politely responded that I didn’t feel we had a romantic connection and that it would probably be best if we left it at that. I was courteous and wanted to make sure I didn’t hurt his feelings.
First, he reacted normally, saying that he was sorry I felt this way, but understood.
Then, the tirade started: ‘Why don’t you like me?’ ‘Why not me?’ ‘What have other men got that I don’t? ‘I don’t get why girls keep doing this?’ ‘Give me another chance’.
I tried to respond, in an effort to be nice, but after almost a dozen texts, I blocked him on my Whatsapp.
That didn’t stop him though.
He then contacted me via my iPhone messages. Blocked.
Via Facebook. Blocked.
And finally, via Twitter.
But at this point, he was tired of simply asking me why I’d chosen to not see him again. Now he was out for a refund.
I’m not kidding. The man publicly tweeted me, asking for an £18 refund for the money he had spent on our date.
To clarify – I paid for my own drinks and my own burger; he was referring to his drinks and food. As if our date was a dissatisfactory meal that he was sending back to the kitchen, or an ASOS delivery that he’d posted back for reimbursement.
A journalist friend of mine who had seen the tweet also had a little look on my date’s profile. It turns out, he had done this before several times and harassed other women through Twitter.
So, I did what any good woman does, I retweeted his message, had a good laugh at the whole situation and then blocked him.
And, of course, used it as inspiration for future articles.
written by Almara Abgarian