First date done. Now for the bat-shit crazy, hair pulling stress-fest that is ‘will he text me’ time.

This one is a Brit. A Brit who lives in Dubai, which is actually quite handy for a girl in Kuwait that is used to doing her own thing. And the date was the best Kuwait-date ever.

He had researched places to go and kept it a secret until an hour before we went. We were going to a shooting range. So in my stiletto heeled boots, jeans and black vest top, with my new Marc Jacobs clutch under my arm I found myself selecting which hand gun I wanted to shoot with. There was a certain Lara Croft element to the evening and it was hot.

At the end of the night, in the taxi, I was wishing he would/could kiss me (Kuwait not being a PDA kinda place for singles at the best of times but it’s also Ramadan). So a peck on the cheek was all that was managed. Toe curlingly frustrating.

But now for the part I HATE. The part that is like waiting for exam results or waiting to hear about a job interview that you thought had gone well but you weren’t quite sure.

Will he text?

There are two camps that have opinions on this waiting game. Those that say I should text him. Those that say I shouldn’t.

The Shoulds:

This group includes my mother and one of my Twitter buddies, Nutty Cow. The argument is that The Rules is psycho-babble-bull-shit from America and has no place interfering in our lives. My mum also draws on experience to back the argument up and says if she had waited for my dad to call her, I wouldn’t exist. Mother also thinks a text the next day saying thank you is just good manners and ‘how else will he know he did well?’. Training boys is like training puppies.

The Should Nots:

Mr Always Right is a ‘should not’. He always says that if I guy likes me, he will go out of his way to text me. If I’m not the forefront of his mind and therefore he’s texting me, then why am I wasting my time on him? He also says that guys like a challenge and by being too available and texty I could come across as needy and easy. Usually sleeping with them on the first date makes the ‘easy’ bit obvious but I didn’t this time.

So like I dick I have checked whatsapp twice and seen he’s been online. And he’s not text. He knows I go on holiday on Friday. So do I wait it out or will I cave in?


I’ve woken up depressed today. I’m getting used to everyone around me buggering off for their Happily Ever Afters but today I lose my backup man.

We’ve all had them. The ‘if I’m still single when I’m X’ backup. I was 19 when we made ours, and it was originally set for 30. Later on we decided to move this to 40 and as 30 has come and gone, and I’m in my 6th single year, the prospect of being single at 40 is becoming a certainty. But I’ll be doing it without my safety net.

Today my backup proposes. And because we are such great friends I’ve seen the ring, know the plan and am truly happy for them. But I am also a selfish bitch when I want to be so am making it all about me for the day.

This guy was perfect backup material. We can go months without seeing each other but pick up exactly where we left off. We’re both foodies who would rather exist on champagne than water. We can go clothes shopping for hours on end, or watch rugby together with a pint. We love each other unconditionally – which came in handy when something threatened to rip our friendship apart 10 years ago. He knows everything there is to know about me and is the only man in the world not to run from that. He’s sat with me in hospital and he’s stayed up all night with me dancing. We’ve shared a bed but never even a kiss, we text each other ‘I miss you’ just so the other person doesn’t forget and we can carry a conversation with looks and not words.

So forgive me for being a selfish little mare today but I’ve let perfectly good husband material slip through my fingers and there’s not many left to hunt out. So if anyone wants me today I’ll me sat up on my shelf watching ‘My Best Friend’s Wedding’ with a box of tissues and a box of truffles. If only I had champagne.

I love online shopping. It’s always been a hobby and even when I’ve got nothing in the bank I will load up my wish list with the pretty things I’ve found whilst whiling away an hour on shopping sites. My colleagues back in the UK knew that any package that was delivered may as well be left in my office as they were likely to be addressed to me. Christmas shopping? online, January sales? online, pay day? Online I go. I just cannot be bothered with traipsing around shopping centres, avoiding people in your way, tiny changing rooms, unflattering lighting and having to carry bags! And since discovering Net-a-Porter have no issue finding my office in Kuwait the move has not stopped my habit. Marc Jacobs clutch in the sale despite having nowhere to wear it? Who cares. I see it, I like it, I order it, I love it.

So why can’t men online be the same? Is it because trading standards don’t review the product descriptions? With my Marc Jacobs I knew the size, the colour, the material and saw outfit options to accompany it. On dating sites the men lie about their height, say they are ‘funny and down to earth’ (when they are actually boring losers) and have clearly chosen photos past their use by date.

My gay friend doesn’t buy handbags online. He does however, get very attractive men online. And lots of sex.

According to him this is where I was going wrong. Tinder isn’t a new dating app designed to find you Mr Right. It’s a straight person’s Grindr and if used correctly can be as satisfying as a See by Chloe bowling bag at half price. So we put it to the test. I was being thrown out of the gay friend’s room for the third night in a row anyway so may as well have some fun.

I swiped right on 6 men. All were a match (yay me). Two instantly started chatting. I was up front with both. I was in town for one more night. One took the bait. He mentioned he was 6 foot 5 and wasn’t shy. I explained it was the first time I’d done this kind of thing. He was at my hotel room door within the hour. I opened it and…

My face fell. Tinder allows you to judge people on looks. You window shop. A bit like me and net-a-porter. Imagine ordering sky high sandals to find you’ve bought scuffed second hand ones in a colour that looks a lot greener than you’d anticipated. But he wasn’t lying about his height. I had a Man Mountain in my hotel room.

But, he could kiss well, so within about 2 minutes we are naked and kissing. And with your eyes shut a bad hair cut doesn’t matter. I reached out to see what else I was getting from room service and found… Nothing. Well, not nothing, but it was flaccid and sat in the palm of my hand. Not so much a mountain then. After effort on both parts, a champagne related party trick and lots of encouragement we had lift off. For about two and a half minutes. Back to the encouragement, which produced another 90 seconds. After repeating this a few times I surrendered to other means and got pretty much what I’d ordered. Then he got cuddly. And it think he was trying to tune in a radio with my right nipple. This wasn’t going to work for me. I can forgive crap sex if I like the guy but this was a strange looking man I only knew the first name of that I had only known an hour. I wasn’t challenged in to improving performance. I was bored and no longer wanted to share my duty free champagne. So, I sat up in bed, grabbed a bottle of water, took delicate sips and said:

“Oh I’m so sorry. Suddenly the room is spinning. I think coming that hard has made me realise how tipsy I must be. I’m so sorry but I think I might be sick and need to be alone to do so”.

He asked if that meant he should go (doh) and I nodded forlornly. He shuffled out and I waited 30 seconds. Then jumped out if bed, poured another glass, lit a cigarette, turned the TV on and text the gay friend. Who didn’t reply.

He didn’t reply because he was banging a certain Russian boy for the second night in a row.

On the plane the next day we were discussing my misfortune. We agreed it’s because straight people just aren’t as good as internet hook ups as gays and I should go back to fishing in bars. Which of course don’t exist in Kuwait. So I’ll stick to online shopping. Now where’s my credit card?

I will get round to blogging about the gay vs straight internet dating challenge I partook in at the weekend however I have bigger news! I was so happy to hear this news I exploded all over Twitter and Whatsapp!

Our old friend Karma has finally done me a favour.

I have been single for 6 years after my fiancĂ© sat on the end of our bed one night and announced ‘I just don’t love you enough to do this any more’. I then found out it was because he was banging someone else. He called me at work 5 days later to tell me in case I found out from anyone else. I was barely keeping it together as it was but that sent me over the edge.

Since then I have worked hard to discover myself again. Over the seven years we were together the fun, vibrant, cheeky girl within me shriveled and died when she was slowly chipped away at. I gained 5 stone in that relationship, was rarely allowed out alone and in hindsight should have seen the words ‘guilty’ stamped across his forehead. He proposed in a pub car park of a place I didn’t like and I knew deep down I didn’t want to be there. But I was too scared of life without someone that I went along with it. My friends hated him and drifted away. My parents weren’t fans but put up with him to save my upset. When he left I put myself out there, lost 4 stone, rediscovered my best friends, bought my own flat and moved to the Middle East to fulfill a dream of working abroad (something he said years before was stupid).

I found happy again. Lonely sometimes, but happy. But when his birthday rolled around he popped in to my head. So I did a bit of nosing around.

He’d moved away with the girl he left me for. They bought a house. They had a dog. And I always knew I’d see wedding pictures one day.

But the wedding pictures didn’t materialize. Because despite buying the ring, it never happened. You see he’s found out she cheated on him with an unattractive ginger bloke. They still have to live together whilst they sell the house and she’s still with the ginger. Apparently his heart break is being consoled by a stream of POF dates and even an extra marital affairs website.

There is no part of me that looks back and feels sorry for him. In fact I could not care less that he’s ‘back on the market’. What I do feel is absolutely, 100% ecstatic.

You see boys and girls. What goes around comes around. You left me high and dry for an ugly, horse-faced boring homebody and she’s now bumping uglies with a ginger in the room next to yours. I however spent the weekend in Dubai chatting up Scottish rugby players.

Have THAT!

Once upon a time there was a British Princess, trapped in an prison of a country called Kuwait. A country that forbade wine, dancing, kissing and pretty dresses. The Princess was desperate for escape. One day, her best friend, the handsome footman, suggested they escape for the weekend. They both knew that the evil Ramadan was looming. The month in that as well as all the normal ridiculous rules to adhere to, they were not allowed to eat, drink water or even smoke (something that the footman did every half an hour). So, with the moon about to herald the month of even less fun, the duo planned their escape. The footman was to go first whereas the Princess had to stay behind and report to the Dark Queen on what she had been doing all month trapped in the castle. Come Thursday night, with the last weekend about to dawn, a massive silver bird was arranged to rescue the princess. Once aboard the big silver bird the princess was given a sparkling pink elixir that would make the prison country fade from her memory. As she looked around her, a slight smile born through freedom grew on her face, and her eye caught that of a handsome prince. He had olive skin and dark hair peppered with streaks of pure silver. As he smiled at her the princess felt something skip deep down inside her stomach. Not used to the touch of a prince, the princess became excited, and the one spare seat between them became smaller and smaller. They melted in to each other and…

The princess realised that two bottles of sparkling pink rose, on no food, at 36,000 feet makes you slightly deluded and does not block out the irritating child in the seat behind you that insists on kicking the seat for the entire 90 minute flight.

My life may not be a fairy tale, and the guy next to me is only a 6 out of 10 and has jiggled his right leg non stop for over an hour now, but it’s Pre-Ramadan Escape Time with my number one Kuwait-based man and when this silver bird lands me in Dubai I am all up for letting my hair down!

Do you ever get things pop in to your head late at night that then go round and round for hours causing lack of sleep and big black cloud follow you around the next day?

I had one the other night. No one has ever been ‘in love’ with me. If I’ve never been loved in 32 years then am I likely to be now? The odds aren’t good.

They say that you can’t expect anyone to love you until you love yourself. Admittedly I have never really been a fan of myself. I feel slightly disgusted when I look in the mirror, I’d rather sit at home alone than step out of my comfort zone and I’ve still not found anything to be passionate about because I view everything in my life as ‘meh’.

Not really surprising then that during 16 years of dating no one has fallen in love with me. I’ve heard the words ‘I love you’ but looking back, they were empty. Everyone that has ever said them has cheated on me. So much for the L word. Although I’m the mug that believed it was a ‘one off’ or chose to ignore the signs completely. Maybe it’s because I was clinging on to what I wanted the relationship to be or what I wanted him to be rather than admitting I deserved more?

In the last few years I could have settled for the same pattern again. But I haven’t. I have been single and happy in my own world for 5 years now. But now I’m lonely. And being lonely in a dating desert is not a happy place to be in. If I do venture out of the front door it’s for dates with a gay man. Internet dating ends at Tinder and quite frankly that thing makes Plenty of Fish in the UK look classy.

So do I just give in? Except that no one has, and ever will, love me and there is no happily ever after?
Or is it time to move on? Because life in Kuwait is starting to feel like someone pressed pause on my love life, and it wasn’t that great to start with!

Boys online are always too good to be true. That’s the one thing most of us can agree on!

So I start talking to an American guy online. The chat was smart, witty and normal. Until he started to come across a little ‘meh’. He took to messaging to say he couldn’t believe I was talking to him and that girls don’t usually talk to him. He said they usually just stop replying. I started to understand why. He suggested meeting up one Sunday night. I said Sunday’s weren’t good for me but gave him nights I could do, and said weekends were free. Apart from the next weekend as I was away. He took that as a ‘I’m never going to see you and am just humouring you’ response. I said it wasn’t, he ranted about how he needed to find his confidence with women and that no one that looked like me would go out with him. I said not to be so daft or hard on himself. I said when I was free. He did nothing about arranging anything. I’d reply to a text, he’d send a voice note. I got bored of this going nowhere and didn’t reply. So I get more voice notes along the lines of ‘just wanted to say hello’ err… So CALL ME?

My friend thinks I’m being picky.

You think I’m being picky.

I spent 7 years with a guy that wouldn’t get off his fat arse and make a decision about anything. I booked our holidays, I paid our bills, I chose the paint when we decorated and I chose what we ate!!! I do not need a guy that can’t even arrange a coffee date. I certainly don’t need a needy ‘no one loves me’ attitude that needs constant reassurance. I have enough of my own hang ups.

Meanwhile the date that thinks a salad in a furniture shop is acceptable sent me a voice note. WHAT IS IT WITH THESE? It was a parody he’d written about Tinder and proceeded to perform all 4 minutes of it. Having not had a reply from me in over a week. I immediately sent it to my girlfriends for a laugh (I’d post it here if I could). He then sent a ‘how’s your week’ message. I was tempted to reply asking if he was on crack.

What is it with these boys? Is it because they’re American and Canadian? Is that what they do out west? Sod that, it’s weird. So current flirtation is a Brit living in Dubai who visits Kuwait a lot with work. So far no voice notes and no cock shots. But only time will tell!


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