The British Tinder, or The Friend Zone

Date Stats

My Outfit: Various (progressively ‘sexier’… to no avail)

His Outfit: Various ‘posh’ clothes

Overall Rating: 6/10

Seriously, why do all the Tinders I like never want to get sexy with me…?

I will start at the beginning.

British Tinder and I met for our first date at Smith and Mills, a cute cocktail bar in Tribeca. First date was a 10/10. He was a gorgeous, tall, British Rugby player who worked in sales (just gloss over that last part). TOTAL TILF.

We drank cocktails, shared a bottle of wine and stayed until the bar closed. At the end of the night we kissed and all was well.

The following night I met up with him and his housemate at The Tippler and then we went on to Le Bain at The Standard.

Le Bain at The Standard is every bit as awful as you imagine it to be… loud house music, douches in suits, overpriced drinks etc. He had some friends there and one of them introduced himself with a business card… that’s pretty much all you need to know about Le Bain at The Standard.

I convinced British Tinder to leave and we went back to his apartment (that’s all you need to know about being back at his apartment).

A couple of days later we went for a walk around Soho then circled back to his. When we arrived outside his front door, he said, ‘Do you want to come up and hang out?’

Obviously, I took this to mean, ‘Do you want to come up and get sexy’ to which I replied, ‘YUP, sure do!’ however, the minute we were indoors he flung himself onto the sofa next to his housemate who was watching The Hangover 3.

I awkwardly sat on the sofa and watched The Hangover 3 (it’s basically exactly the same as Hangover 1 and Hangover 2… some people are hungover and hilarity ensues) then… went home afterwards.

Zero sexy time.

The following Sunday he asked if we could reschedule our date that evening to watch a movie together for the next night instead, because his housemates were watching the golf. I told him I wasn’t fussed about the movie, we could do something else and he said:

Do you want to come over and watch the golf?

I said:

No, not really

And he said:

All right cool, come over

I assumed he meant ‘All right cool, come over to get sexy THERE WILL BE NO GOLF WATCHING’ however I think he actually meant, ‘All right cool, don’t come over’ because when I got there he was definitely watching the golf (on the sofa, with his housemates). And he definitely had no intention of doing anything other than watching the golf (on the sofa, with his housemates).

I sat awkwardly (on the sofa, with his housemates) hating golf, hating sofas, hating housemates and texting my friend:

I am watching golf on sofa with housemates. How do I get him in to the bedroom?

She said:

Hold his hand

I instinctively felt that this wouldn’t go down well on the Sofa Of Lads And Golf.

The golf match finally ended but he grabbed the remote and put on an episode of Entourage. When they all started talking about how SUPER HOT one of the girls was, I’d reached my limit of insufferable-lad-chat and said I had to get going. I could tell there would be no sexy time here, unless I could somehow magically turn myself into a golf club.

Outside, he kissed me goodbye dispassionately and after about 30 seconds he stopped awkwardly, backed away, and said ‘Ha, it’s a bit PDA, isn’t it?’

It actually, definitely wasn’t… unless PDA stands for Public Display of Apathy.

The next evening we met for drinks and I was DETERMINED to turn up the heat, however as soon as we sat down he ordered a diet coke. The ultimate blow off.

As we were chatting, I would try to do something ‘sexy’, like show some boob or rub my leg against his under the table, but every time I tried this he would act like it had been an embarrassing accident and shift away from me saying, ‘Ah, these tables are so tiny my legs don’t fit’. I rationalized to myself that MAYBE HE JUST HATES BOOBS AND SMALL TABLES and this is no reflection on how he feels about me…? But when the check came, he did not offer to pay. The even more ultimate blow off.

As we arrived outside my subway station (NO he did not invite me back to his place to get sexy) he said, ‘Alright, nice to see you, I’ll see you on Saturday’ and gave me a kiss on the CHEEK! I was tempted to just grab him and kiss him passionately, like they do in movies, but I feared this might be met with, ‘Ah! PDA! Ah! Small tables! Ah! Golf!’ so I just said:

‘British Tinder, are you in to this?’

He started looking uncomfortable and rambling on about PDA. I refrained from hitting him and when I got home sent him a text saying:

I’m just confused… was that a date?

It took him a day to reply but when he did he said he didn’t want to lead me on and he doesn’t want a relationship. (Which, of course, is boy speak for, ‘I don’t want a relationship WITH YOU, kill yourself’).

We agreed to be friends. TIHBFZB. (Tinder I have been friend-zoned by).

Anyway, this whole experience was demoralizing and I think I am destined to be alone with 20 cats.

On the plus side, I’m a little relieved to no longer have to spend an hour agonizing with friends to carefully craft the perfect ‘playin-it-cool’ text, only to receive a reply a day later saying, Watching rugby. Good match. U?