What Women Don't Want

And Why Drastic Moves Need To Be Made

I recently had a rather magnificent realisation, late one night after a rather drunken evening at a rather dirty pub. It'd been an unsuccessful night on the love front, so I was devouring a greasy late night kebab to fill the empty void. The realisation - No More Tindering.

Sadly, this wasn't some empowered 'I'm Stella and I got my groove back without the aid of some hot-young-man-statement.' It was more - 'If I have to endure the company of one more dud, I will gather all my savings and go on an Adult Shop/Cat Haven shopping binge, then spend the next 10 years crocheting little hats for my elaborate dildo collection, surrounded by thousands of feline friends.'

As I took my last garlic drenched mouthful, I deleted Tinder. Those who know me, know this isn't the first time I've made promises I never intend to keep while sucking down a lamb sarnie, but somehow tonight felt different. Maybe it was the extra 50c of hummus I'd treated myself or maybe I was just really, really drunk, either way it felt about as finished as Shannon Knoll’s music career.

Honestly I’d never really been that in to Tinder. It's more 'Candy Crush' for the pre-menopausal. But I'd been on dates in my Tinder Career ... both were below average, one was below the poverty line.

My first was with a man named Ryan (names have not been changed to protect the dickheads). He’d won my heart with the opening line "Wanna see my gere?” I didn't, so ignored what I thought was a spelling challenged, pervert. He later responded with a handsome headshot of everyone's favourite prostitute seducing, Buddhist, Richard Gere. I, like Julia and her Rodeo-Drive-commission-hogging-arse was in. We did the general witty exchange, talked Simpson's and played the celebrity food game (change famous people’s names to food i.e. Danny Dorito, Cuba Pudding Jnr). He seemed great. When he suggested we meet I was genuinely excited.

I thought an afternoon drink at a pub would be a good first meeting, Ryan agreed. It was a glorious day but I lacked the discipline to wait for beer. One quick pint of courage turned into mini pub-crawl and resulted in me arriving one hour late, hiccuping, slightly disheveled. You assume this makes me the weakest link, sadly not.

When I suggested a jug, Ryan happily agreed, before declaring he had no money. Ryan had gone out the night before and lost his entire fortune of $80. He didn't seem to understand the concept of working in exchange for money and would be living off zero dollars until next Thursday. What a winner.

After some more very awkward conversation, mainly about how Ryan was going nowhere in life. Ryan complained of intense hunger pains, due to Ryan not being able to afford food. When it couldn't get any worse, the 27-year-old suggested we go to his house for some Mie Goreng and Goon. Date over, Tinder deleted.

After a few months of loneliness, I decided to get back on the desperation pony. This time, I was going on a date with a man named Phil. Phil had a job, so in my mind was already winning. He suggested we meet at a bar for a drink and maybe food. This sounded more appetizing than goon and instant noodles.

We met, he seemed relatively nice. The waitress came over for our drink order and Phil dropped the bomb. He didn't drink. The next two hours involved me drinking beer (Phil eventually ordered a coke) and having exciting conversations about things like Myki and health insurance. The whole time Phil sat judging me heavily in a smug-I’m-a-sober-guy way. He also didn't like Fleetwood Mac! He may as well have spat on my dead pug's grave.

We said our goodbyes and I thought that was it, apparently not. Phil didn’t seem to understand the basic laws of attraction. Clearly, the awkward dodge your kiss handshake I had skillfully performed was misunderstood. Or maybe he thought I was playing hard to get. After less than 24 hours I had many, many texts from Phil, drunken texting wasn't even an excuse. The guys phone bill must have been bigger than Tiger-Wood’s-120-affairs-phase. Maybe we did have something in common, we'd obviously both watched ‘Fatal Attraction.’

The messages ranged from "When will I see you again?" to "Can't believe you like Fleetwood Mac LOL" to "Bet you're hung-over today. You seem to drink heaps LOL" then “Just making sure you’re receiving my texts” and finally "Why haven't you called me, aren't you interested?” I decided to let him down easily with a "Bingo, LOL" response. Conversation over, Tinder deleted. No bunnies would be boiled. Although Tinder is deleted, should I be tempted. I will be making sure to swipe right for employed, alcoholics with a passion for Fleetwood Mac.

mildred issue