The suitor suggested a walk at minus twenty degrees because only gold-diggers sit in cafés. I didnt hesitateI showed up in a ski suit and thermal underwear But he had no idea what surprise was waiting for him out there.
His name is Peter. In the photos, hes an average-looking man of about thirty-fivetidy, nothing extravagant. His profile talks a lot about self-awareness, personal growth, and searching for a real, lively soul. That in itself was a bit of a warning sign; experience has taught me that the louder a man talks about wanting a real woman, the more likely hes just after someone convenient, someone who wont ever ask for anything or expect more.
Wed been messaging for a few days. Peter was polite, though some odd comments slipped through. He was particularly fond of sharing his opinion that modern women are ruined by money.
They all just want restaurants, holidays in Spain, and the latest phones, he wrote. Nobody cares about soul, just simple walks and conversation.
As someone raised to be polite, I noddedmentallyand gently redirected the conversation. Everyone carries scars, after all. Perhaps his ex-wife left him with no home, or no illusions, who knows. I try not to jump to conclusions.
Then he suggested we meet. The only problem: its the depth of winter. Not winter as in chilly, but real, relentless British Februarywith minus twenty on the thermometer and at least minus twenty-five if you count the wind chill. Met Office warnings flying around, everyone urged to stay indoors unless absolutely necessary.
Lets meet in Hyde Park, Peter messages. Well walk, breathe fresh air, get to know each other without all the fuss.
Peter, I reply, its minus twenty out there, well turn into icicles in ten minutes. How about a cup of coffee at a café?
His answer arrives in an instant.
I dont do cafésonly gold-diggers sit there, waiting for a free meal. I need a partner for life, someone wholl stick with me through fire, water, and cold. If youre just after me spending twenty pounds on you, then were not right for each other.
Curiosity won. I just had to meet this champion for authentic relationships, for whom a cup of Americano is basically fiscal slavery.
Fine, I typed. Hyde Park, main entrance, at 7 PM.
Preparation took some doing. Out came the thermal underwear, warm jumper, and finally, my ski suit. On my feet: thick-soled boots with wool socks, and a fur-lined hat on my head.
Looking in the mirror, I saw someone ready to overwinter in the Arctic.
All right, Peter. Brace yourself, I winked at my reflection and stepped into the icy darkness.
At exactly 7 PM, I was at the park. The cold instantly bit at my cheeksabout the only skin exposed. The snow crunched underfoot, andnot a soul in sight: sensible folk, including those gold-diggers, had chosen warmth.
Peter was there by the gates. Wearing an autumn coat. He shuffled from foot to foot, jumping around and blowing frantically into his hands. His nose had already turned plum-red, and his ears glowed scarlet.
I approached.
Evening, I said quietly from beneath my scarf.
He looked me over, clearly expecting a delicate fairy in tights, shivering prettily in the wind, giving him the chance to feel heroic. Instead, he found himself facing someone who looked more like a rescue worker on an expedition.
Evening, he chattered, teeth knocking. You really came prepared.
You said you wanted someone for fire and water, I shrugged. Figured Id start with cold. Ready for a walk and fresh air, then?
15 minutes of glory
We moved off down the avenue. This definitely became one of the strangest dates of my life.
How do you find the weather? I asked politely.
Bracing, he forced out. His face barely moved, only his lipswhich were quickly turning bluestill in action. I like winter. Its a test of character.
Absolutely, I nodded. Since you brought up gold-diggers, tell mewhy is coffee a sign of financial dependence in your mind?
Talking seemed painfulthe cold stung his throatbut his convictions demanded sacrifice.
Because his voice wavered, relationships should be based on interest in each other, not wallets. If a woman cant just walk, and immediately demands feeding, shes just a taker.
What if she just wants to avoid catching pneumonia? I asked, adjusting my hood.
Thats just excuses, he sniffed loudly. If you want toyoull find a way. Just wear warmer clothes.
Well, I did, I gestured at my voluminous silhouette. But you seem less so. Are you sure youre not freezing?
Im fine! he snapped, though he was trembling so much it was obvious even in the dusk.
Ten minutes passed and we reached the parks central square. There stood a closed coffee kiosk. Peter gazed at it with all the drama of a tragic hero.
Should we head back? he suggested. The winds picking up.
Oh, come on! I cheered up. Weve only just started. You wanted to know my soul. Lets talk literature. Do you like Jack London? He wrote a great story called To Build a Fire, about a man who froze to death because he underestimated the cold.
The look he gave me was decidedly unspiritual.
Listen, I need to go, he cut me off. Ive got urgent matters.
What matters? Wed planned the evening.
Work. Just rememberedI didnt send a report.
At 8 PM, on a Friday?
Yes! he nearly shouted.
He spun on his heel and almost ran for the exit. I followed leisurely, savouring the moment: my survivalist had lasted exactly fifteen minutes.
Outside the Underground station, he didnt even say goodbyejust vanished into the saving warmth below. Hopefully he warmed not only his frozen fingers, but maybe, just maybe, his convictions. Though I doubt it.
I went home, poured a mug of hot tea, and deleted Peters chat. No regrets for the time spent. Those fifteen minutes were a perfect vaccine against guiltand a fierce reminder: looking after yourself doesnt make you a gold-digger.
