Don’t be an arsehole

Dahling, when God put teeth in your mouth, he ruined a perfectly good arsehole.

Neil Gaiman

It seems like a simple enough concept.  And it should be.  Simple I mean.  But when it comes to dating, it’s not.  Arseholes are abound – and they aren’t even always men, they aren’t even always strangers and sometimes they’re not even someone else. 

My absence from the dating world has been an extended one.  Actually, if we were going to compare my absence from the dating world to something it would be something akin to the hair that still grows grey and straw like long after Great Nanna Rose has been buried with the titanic and her giant sapphire.

One tiny toe back in water and the tinder sharks did what they do best.  They ghosted.  Actual Ghost Sharks.  Looming in for the kill only to disappear when the lights turn on.  And when you put it like that, it’s exactly like a one-night stand.  Until now.  Until the revelation that not all one-night stands are arseholes.

Scared doesn’t begin to describe the emotional turmoil of dating after the dry spell that led to a donor conceived baby and the practice of downstairs grooming specifically designed for medical staff and their sensibilities.  So going back into the fray of sharks and worse, trying to swim as one and hope that I catch one off guard enough to not realise that all of my clothes are still stained with infant spew, is absolutely terrifying.

Then there was a lone shark – not see through like the others. It was a right swipe with very little hope and a very distant whim.  In fact, the only reason I did swipe right was that down far in the ugly photos, was a short man wearing a full suit in Storm Trooper print.  The hotter, better looking photos outweighed by the fact that somewhere down there, he was a nerd and maybe not so determined to hunt young sharks that have just fallen out of their nest. 

I’m pretty sure I initiated a conversation with something pretty boring and shite.  Assuming he would ghost at some point, there wasn’t anything left to lose. He responded and the conversation was refreshingly honest. He knew about the existence of my time sucker that left stains on my clothes and was quick to set boundaries of what he expected and then the most amazing thing happened.  He asked me what mine were.  

In a real, grown up conversation a man asked me what I wanted, what I expected and expected an adult conversation about compromise in return.  When I raised concerns about my ‘rusty skills’ and ‘ageing post baby body’ he returned with comments of kindness and understanding.  He reassured my worries with phrases of support and understanding and responded with thoughtful comments and kindness that showed he valued all of the parts I bring to the table – no matter their physically ageing state of disrepair – including my ability to hold a conversation and make him laugh.

There is no possibility of a relationship.  Calm down marriage pushers, but the service he provided is much more valuable for where I am at right now.  Rendezvous interactions usually lead to guilt, emptiness and rotten hang overs.  Very rarely have they ever left feelings of strength, femininity and safety.  

Above all things there are the things we hold most important in the people we choose to share our lives with.   Kindness, honesty and integrity.  It’s a rare mix to find in a human and a constant test to choose those again in yourself. But that’s it really.  Be kind in the words you choose and the actions you share, be honest and say and do what you mean.  In the actions and words of a short man who wasn’t wearing a storm trooper suit when he arrived at the door, ‘I’m not an arsehole, Anna.’ 

And he wasn’t. In a conversation and an interaction that was limited in time and length with a very clear expiry date, there is a way to get what you want and not be an arsehole.  The guidelines are relatively simple and if he wanted to, I’m dead set certain there is a podcast in this niche market that could make him a minor star with a significant income. 

The absolutely clincher in the arsehole stakes rests in one defining moment.  It is post interaction that most people feel their skin wrinkle with ick.  And this is it.  The kind one at his most kind was post interaction.  The idiot sent a message.  In fact, he sent several.  All carrying on a conversation making sure that I felt ok about what had happened.

How did I feel, did I get what I wanted out of the interaction – and not just physically but did I actually feel better about the way I saw myself and was there anything I wanted to talk about after we had seen each other.  Never, in all of my years of dating misery, has anyone ever asked me that.  Ever. 

I had no idea how to respond.  I couldn’t form the words or the thoughts to respond like a grown up and instead sat in silence and searched for the angle.  What was he playing at? What was he trying to achieve?  And in my wisdom, I just asked.  

His response was enough to render me mute and then over gracious.  Two things I am never. ‘Nothing.  I just wanted to make sure you were happy with the way things went.  It’s important that I know you’re ok with it all.’ 

And there, right there, is how not to be an arsehole in the shark pit of Tinder and Bumble.  Kindness wins.  As it should, everytime.  

The most disturbing part of this story is not that in the swiping world I found a kind one but that this kind of conversation and kindness isn’t the norm.  My expectation of this man was exceeded by the act of asking how I was after he left my house in the early morning. It seems ridiculous that sharing this kind of empathy and kindness with a human who has seen you naked is not the bare minimum of interaction.  

Here I am, again, applauding, thanking, rewarding a man for human decency.  It’s annoying to think of it in those terms and I am doing all I can to refuse to let this fall into a gender debate.  I do however think all human initiation of kindness should be noted and recognised.  

There are a few more sharks in my message bank who could do with a lesson in conversation and human decency and a little less schooling in acronyms, dick pics, threesome invitations and false disclosures of open marriages.  

Back into the shark tank we go.  But hopefully with armour that’s a little stronger and a little braver.  It’s easy.  It’s simple.  Let’s try not to be arseholes.  Somewhere out there, in real life even, there are people, men even, that are not arseholes.  And that is the best thing I’ve learned in a very long while.