28May2026 Wednesday
Why should I end up as a caretaker for an old man? Whats in it for me a flat? A motor?Thats how Hannah, twentyfour, snapped back at me when I suggested we get married. She looked at me as if I were yesterdays clearancesale item on the shelf of a supermarket, forgotten by the manager before the pricecut. In that instant, after a long spell of not taking anything seriously, I wondered whether the world had finally turned upside down: at fortythree Im already being labelled oldtimer, and the price of a relationship is being read aloud, no flirting, no hints, just a straightforward price tag.
Im fortythree. Ive never been married. Ive had two cohabitations each lasting about two years decent, ordinary, nothing dramatic, just that we drifted apart like adults do. I always thought that was a plus: no alimony, no exfiles, no emotional baggage, no endless comparisons or arguments. Yet in todays dating market that seems less a virtue than a red flag, as if being single at my age meant something was broken, a hidden defect that never passed inspection.
I finally decided enough was enough. I want a family, a woman by my side attractive, wellkept, young. I wont lie: Id like someone under twentyeight, someone who looks good enough to make the mates at the pub ask, Where did you find her? I see nothing shameful in that. I earn a decent salary, own a twobed flat in Manchester, have a sensible hatchback, I dont drink or smoke, I keep fit, and, as far as I could tell, Im a respectable commodity on the market.
But the market, it turns out, runs on a different set of rules. I discovered I wasnt a buyer but the product and not even a hot one.
**First date** Emily, twentysix, met me through an app. Wed been texting for a week; she laughed at my jokes, wrote youre interesting and its easy with you. I thought, finally, a normal meetup, no strings, just a human connection. The moment we sat down, the conversation slipped onto a different track.
She looked me over, unabashed, and within fifteen minutes asked:
What car do you drive?
Do you own a flat?
How much do you earn?
I realised instantly this wasnt a date; it was an interview, and I wasnt even a candidate more a stock being tested for liquidity. The strangest part was her calm, as if she were asking, Tea or coffee?
When I turned the tables and asked, What are you looking for? she smiled and replied, Comfort. I want a man who can meet my needs.
No coyness, no hinting just a price list.
**Second date** Sophie, twentyfour, the pictureperfect type that makes you think its worth the effort. We met at a restaurant in Liverpool, I picked up the tab, everything went as expected, and eventually the chat drifted to the future.
I want a family, children, a stable relationship, I said.
She stared at me and said calmly, And what can you give?
I was caught off guard.
What do you mean?
She went on, You want a young woman, right? She has choices. Why should she pick you?
Then she laid it out:
Youre older, so you have to make up for it with resources flat, car, money, lifestyle. Otherwise whats the point?
I tried to argue that love, compatibility, respect mattered too, but she just shrugged, Those are secondary. The basics come first.
And then, in that flat tone, she repeated what Emily had said earlier:
Why should I be a caretaker for an old man?
If you want someone young, youve got to match that.
I left feeling like Id been dismantled on a conveyor belt, each part assessed for market value.
Whats most unsettling isnt the occasional odd encounter; its the whole system.
**Third story** broke me completely. Id been chatting with Lucy, twentyseven, whod initiated the conversation, asked questions, flirted. I was starting to think maybe not everything was rotten. Then she sent a voice note:
Listen, lets be honest. I need a man wholl support me. I dont want to work myself to the bone. If youre not up for that, dont waste either of our time.
I asked, What do you bring to the table?
She laughed, Me? Meself.
Thats when something clicked inside me. Myself as a product, a service, an allinclusive package you pay for upfront. The absurdity is that they dont see the problem at all. Theyre unapologetic, they set the terms straight away, and if you dont fit, youre simply written off, no drama, no regret, just a rejected listing.
And the irony? I spent months blaming women saying theyd become spoiled, greedy, only after money. The more dates I went on, the more I realised the fault lay partly with me. I walked onto this market expecting to choose, yet I found myself being chosen. I wanted a young, beautiful, convenient partner. They wanted a secure, stable, profitable one.
I chased looks; they chased resources. In their logic, everything is fair just uncomfortable for me. Suddenly Im not a unique bloke, not a catch, just another item compared, evaluated, discarded.
The hardest part isnt the rejections; its the moment you realise youre being seen not as a man, but as a proposal, complete with conditions, limits, an expiry date. Perhaps Im simply too late. Maybe I should have built a family before relationships turned into transactions. Maybe I lingered too long in the illusion that time was on my side.
Now reality is what it is. To get what I want, I must either meet the demands or rewrite my own. And Im not ready for either. That, perhaps, is the most unsettling realisation of the past few years.
