Mr. Tall, Dark and Conscientious

You know when you match with someone on a dating app and immediately assume they're using old photos, filtered to oblivion, and probably 5'7" instead of 6'1"? Yeah, me too. So you can imagine my shock—and I mean full-body, heart-palpitating shock—when I turned up to a first date and the guy was actually hotter than his pictures. It felt illegal. Suspicious. Like I was being punked by the dating gods in a rare act of kindness.

He had arranged to meet me at a pub in my area (what a gent), which honestly made me melt a little. Thoughtful and hot? Pack it up, lads, we have a winner. Only catch? The pub was literally next door to my ex’s old place. Like, spitting-distance-close. I half-expected a traumatic montage of my previous relationship to start playing in my head the second I walked in. Nothing like a dose of emotional whiplash to start the evening.

But there he was—Mr. Tall, Dark and Conscientious—waiting at a table with that easy confidence of someone who knows he’s good looking. He stood up, flashed a pearly-white smile, and offered to get me whatever I fancied—food, drinks, the moon if I asked. Off to a strong start.

Conversation was flowing, his jawline was distracting me at regular intervals, and I was starting to think, “Okay, maybe this is it. Maybe this is my ‘how we met’ story in the making.” And then... the laugh happened.

Not just any laugh. A full-body, head-thrown-back, bellow-from-the-diaphragm cackle that could only be described as flamboyantly camp. I’m talking drag queen meets theatre kid energy. Not what I expected from this chisel-cheeked hunk. Every time he let one rip (the laugh, not—thankfully—anything else), I felt like I was on a date with my hilarious gay best mate, not someone who was giving me “rip my clothes off” energy.

But I persisted. He was lovely, truly. Polite, thoughtful, unreasonably good looking. We even went for a long post-date walk, which I always love because it makes me feel like I’m in a rom-com. Though unlike in said films, there were no hand grazes, no accidental brushing of shoulders, no leaning in for a kiss. Just... a walk. A very platonic walk. So British it practically smelt of tea and awkwardness.

Still, I agreed to a second date. Maybe he was just shy? Maybe he’s playing the long game? Or maybe I’m delusional. TBD.

Second date was at my local. Once again, he was charming, considerate... and yes, the laugh made a triumphant return. Honestly, I started bracing for it like a jump scare. But then came the real curveball: he told me his parents are hoarders. Like, proper can’t-see-the-floor hoarders. Their house is apparently full of ancient books, random junk, and the aroma of unfulfilled dreams. Oh, and they expect him to move back in one day to take care of them when they’re old.

I paused.

Because nothing says “glamorous future” like shacking up in a glorified rubbish tip with two parental dependents and possibly a ghost made of newspapers.

Between the laugh, the bleak future prophecy, and the complete lack of even the tiniest romantic spark, I decided to let this one quietly... fizzle. Like a bottle of Tesco prosecco left open too long—no pop, no fizz, just flat.

And yet, every now and then, I do wonder. Did I write him off too quickly? Was I too picky? He was so good looking. And so kind. And did I mention the jawline? Maybe the laugh would’ve grown on me. Maybe the hoarding situation could've been solved with a few skips and a Netflix documentary.

But then again... maybe I’m just a sucker for a what-if.

So, I guess the moral of the story is: don’t underestimate the power of a laugh, a future filled with hoarded junk, and the importance of chemistry. Or maybe just... don’t date near your ex’s place. It really does bring the ghosts out.

Until next time, swipe safely.

Want more misadventures in modern dating? Stick around—I’ve got enough stories to fill your next awkward first date with plenty of laughs. The less camp kind, I promise.