After four months of exchanging messages, I agreed to meet a 52-year-old gentlemanhe began our conversation with five grievances.
People often claim the anticipation of a celebration is sweeter than the event itself. In Julias peculiar dream, the waiting stretched nearly four months, morphing into an odd sort of online soap opera with daily instalments.
During this period, she memorised every taste of Georges, learned the names of his childhood companions, and grew accustomed to his habit of ending good morning with three dots, as if a question always followed.
Julia was forty-fivein that season of life when going on a date isnt approached with trembling knees but with a dry, explorers curiosity. Lets see what strange specimen I encounter this time, she thought as she prepared for her rendezvous.
She was one of those women who could slip into a plain navy cashmere jumper and wear it like a ceremonial robe, wielding a self-deprecating humour potent enough to neutralise awkwardness.
The Bottle
George, whod turned fifty-two not long ago, appeared in his messages as sensible, shrewd, a shade sardonic, andmost appealingreliably steadfast.
At our age, Julia, he typed to her late at night, people search for warmth, not fireworks. I want to be with a woman who understands without needing words.
Without words, so be it, Julia thought, flicking on some mascara. Still, she hoped that when words did appear, they wouldnt make her want to escape.
Their meeting was arranged in a small, familiar café, suffused with gentle lighting and the scent of cinnamon. Julia was perfectly on timecollected, assured, geared up for a pleasant evening. She looked immaculate.
George arrived five minutes later. In person, he was somewhat shorter than his pictures, and wore an expression one might expect from someone whod just pinpointed a grave error in a spreadsheet.
He sat across, issued a brief smile, and greeted her. No compliments, no warm lovely to meet you.
George surveyed Julia carefully, as if he were evaluating a rare coin. Then he suggested ordering coffee and dessert, and she agreed.
Julia, he began, adopting the tone of a deputy headmistress before assembly, Ive spent considerable time dissecting our correspondence. Nearly four months. Now, seeing you in person, I think it best to lay out some vital points. I have five grievances.
Inside, something quietly clinked in Juliaa sound usually reserved for the shattering of good moods. She rested her chin on her hand and nodded.
Five grievances? Now thats intriguing. Do carry on.
George missed her irony and raised the first finger.
On one of your photos, the one in the blue dress, your figure appears different. Here, I see youre more sculpted. That could mislead a man. Our age calls for greater honesty in women.
Julia mentally chuckled. Sculptedthank heavens for progress; at least its not monumental.
Second grievance: response speed
Sometimes you reply far too slowly. For instance, three weeks ago I sent you a message at 2:15 pm, and you didnt reply until 4:40 pm. Men dislike waiting. It feels disrespectful.
I think I was in a meeting then she began, but George was already raising his next finger.
Third grievance: venue choice
Why did you choose this place? Its overly posh. I suggested a simpler café. Your choice reveals a tendency toward ostentatious consumption.
Julia glanced at her latte, suddenly tempted to pour it on Georges head. Her curiosity, however, won out.
Fourth grievance: attire
Why that dress? Were just here for coffee. Its unnecessarily provocative for the time of day. The jewellery is redundant too. Women should captivate with substance, not sparkle. At my age, I seek depth, not a shop window.
Fifth grievance: independence
You chose the restaurant yourself, you often say myself. You never let a man feel like a man. I need a woman who asks for advice, not flaunts independence. If we continue, youll need to rethink your attitude.
He finished, folding his arms across his chest, clearly expecting either repentance or gratitude for his honesty.
Julia gazed at him and suddenly realised: four months of correspondence had been nothing more than a convenient mask for a meticulous manipulator. He wasnt searching for warmthhe wanted a compliant object to feed his self-importance.
You know, George, she said gently, almost tenderly, Ive analysed as well. Five minutes in person was all I needed.
And your conclusion? he squinted.
Youre a fascinating character. Youve travelled across town just to invoice a woman youve never met for her taste, looks, and simply being herself. Thats a rare brand of confidence.
George frowned:
Im just being honest.
No, Julia shook her head. Not honest. Just unhappytrying to measure the world with a crooked ruler. If my photos dont suit you, visit a museumexhibits never change. I answer too slowly? Get a Tamagotchi. Dont like the dress? I wore it for myself, not for you.
She stood, adjusted her bag, and looked at him calmly.
One last thing. If your ego collapses at the word myself, youre not ready for romance, you need therapy. At forty-five, I value my time far too much to waste it on someone who starts a meeting by auditing my shortcomings.
Where are you going? What about the coffee? George mumbled.
Youll finish your coffee alone. Thatll help you save resources. And one piece of adviceif you want someone staring into your mouth, make an appointment with a dentist.
Back home, Julias first act was to block George in all her apps. At her age, comfort meant not only a blanket and quiet, but a phone clear of those trying to squeeze her into their wobbly moulds.
So what do you think: was it a failed flirtation or a painstakingly rehearsed performance? Should one continue chatting when, from the very start, youre charged for being yourself?
