Three years after beginning my journey on dating apps, fuck-boi behaviour still slips through, parading as a ‘sex-posi dude who is interested in feminism and indoor plants’. I know. That’s like three red flags I missed.
“Did you know that the deadliest spiders are actually those that live underground, like the funnel web?” Isaac awkwardly reeled this off from his store of fun facts he used when lost for words or avoiding the massive elephant in the room. His Ute was claustrophobic in the heat and I felt like toddler sitting in the clunky and loud front cabin.
“I didn’t, that’s cool. So the dangerous ones are the most covert spiders? That makes sense, the little bastards.”
He dropped me off outside my apartment, and we leaned in for a Disney-appropriate kiss. I hesitated for a few seconds, but couldn’t get the words out. The need to avoid more awkwardness was stronger than the wish for honesty.
“Speak to you soon” I said and jumped out of the car without looking back.
Isaac never contacted me again but stayed following me on IG. Classic Fuck-Boi move.
Months later I posted a cartoon of a girl crying after a tinder date because she had been told she was a ‘crazy girl’. Because Women are crazy, and dudes are assholes, right?!
He texted me a day later saying how sorry he hadn’t messaged again and hoped I was alright and that he thought I was smart and attractive but didn’t feel a spark.
He believed that this cartoon was meant for him! That MONTHS later I would still be stewing about his ghosting enough to draw it and post it, like some passive-aggressive attempt to guilt him.
There are no words for how far back my eyes rolled or how loud I said ‘UGHHHH’. The irony was just too perfect.
I sent him a curt reply saying it was not connected to him and have a nice day.
Image courtesy of: https://vimeo.com/jimmymarble