I used to joke that I have become so jaded, that I go along to my first date in a tracksuit. In fact, jaded is kind of a massive outrageous understatement of how easily it was becoming to believe that men are just confused, selfish and mostly not very nice.

I’ve met many creative, talented, successful, attractive men in the past year. But very few of them have actually had the remotest idea of what they want, or been honest about it (except for one, Mr Climber, thank you for being lovely- it’s all your fault that I think men should be as chivalrous as you).

Dating a few boys this year has been trying on my emotional safety and well-being. From a man whose name should have been Mr Jekyll Hyde, to going on an absolutely amazing date for hours with someone only to never hear from them again (just plain rude, I don’t care what you say), to meeting someone who seemed quite lovely and going from talking marriage, children, living together and then catching him in the street with someone else- all within 5 weeks. Jesus Christ, someone get me an interpreter!!

All of these men said one thing and meant another.

Which is super annoying because I love speaking English. In fact I’m rather good at it. I don’t respond very well to vague, indifferent or apathetic. I think I may very well be allergic to it now. I’ve had a toxic overload.

Hence aforementioned blog- I decided to swear off men. Yes, I was deadly serious. And then I went out in the most revolting outfit known to womankind and was introduced to Mr Endearmint (sweet, lovely, refreshing and er, great after dinner). I was so SO not wanting to do anything that night except dance to 80’s music with my Monkey Troupe. Then he asked me if he could buy me a Coca Cola and talk to me about art. With that dizzying offer, what was I to do? We sat and spoke and he was… well, normal. No bullshit, no star-studded declarations, no grandiose gestures from other planets… just a guy.

We exchanged numbers, hugged goodbye, and that was that.

Day Two: chatting over the phone about life, love and everything else. Wow, I could really like this boy. So I tell him. He laughs. It’s been ages since he’s dated, he says. He also says had the worst year of his life and he’s in a really bad space. Ok. Full Frontal Honesty. I can dig this.

Day Three: we go out in a group and talk some more. I get the distinct impression that Mr Endearmint is even more brutally honest than I am (is that possible?) and that he’s explaining every one of his vulnerabilities before I stumble upon them later and retract. I appreciate that, but it wasn’t necessary. I’m quite a happy with mystique and a certain illusion of enigma… But, that said, after he’d had the courage to be honest (very VERY rare trait) and lay all his cards on the table, for us to be able to say “thanks and perhaps let’s just be friends” and for it to be ok and still like each other.

Mr Endearmint- you really have taken my breath away. I’ve never met any boy like you. You give me hope that not all men need to come with an instruction manual…