I am honest about the fact that my 10-year marriage ended last year after my ex-husband cheated.
I still like to party, and most of my single friends are on Tinder or One man described himself as “soleful.” I wrote, “You mean soulful.” He replied, “No, I mean soleful. Another asked me if I wanted to go somewhere and smoke some weed. I have worked hard to get into great shape — I have run marathons in Boston, London and New York — and have a private album with tasteful photos of me on vacation with my girlfriends on the beach.
And if it is, in fact, horrible, everyone loves a horrible dating story.
The other day I was sitting on a train with a friend as she flicked through profiles on Bumble, an online dating service in which women have to reach out to men first.
I watched her swipe left to reject a professional football team's worth of New York-area hipsters, jocks and nerds.
Though sadly you’re probably more likely to find a man in a pub than Kurt Geiger. Post a 20-year-old photo of yourself when you were slimmer, more attractive and had all your hair. Kurt Geiger doesn’t post pictures of its shoes jumping out of a plane, deep sea diving or going to a fancy dress party with 3,000 friends. What says ‘fun’ to you may say ‘Jack Torrance in The Shining’ to them.
Don’t despair – out there somewhere is another overweight 50-year-old dying to meet you. What says ‘flirty’ to you may say ‘sex pest’ to them.