Guess what? Miracles do happen. I have got a date. Tonight. But somehow all I can think of is that I’d rather go to the gym, hang out with the people I already know, maybe read a book. It’s not that I’m scared, but it might be that I’m scared. What if I don’t like him? What if I like him but he thinks I’m a complete twat? No wait, let me rephrase that: what if he finds out on the first date that I’m a complete twat? What if he’s a weirdo who thinks collecting toenails is a cool hobby? So many questions, and only one way to find out: not finding out and getting into bed with ice cream. No, I’m kidding, I am going. I have rescheduled twice now and he still wants to meet me. This guy deserves a medal. Pray for me that I won’t get cut into a million pieces – or worse, that he shows me his toenail collection.

I have been single for so long I have gotten used to it. Not even gotten used to it, I’ve gotten good at it. Too good. I do whatever the fuck I want (like move across the globe), I go wherever I want to, I stay out or in as long as I please (mostly in – I’m wild like that). I give out these amazing vibes that I don’t need anybody, that you can go fuck yourself and that I think you’re stupid. Apparently, that’s not what guys like?! Who the fuck knew? I can’t help it, though. The guys you meet nowadays can be such gigantic assholes that I’d rather scare them away from the start than talk to them and be disappointed by their ridiculously low level of intelligence. Btw, apart from a complete twat, I’m also a judgmental know-it-all. Can you tell?

Anyway, it’s almost time to go. Stay tuned for the next post to find out if my date collects toenails or other strange things like potato chips shaped like celebrities.

Martin, if you read this, I’m also really cool and smart and like insanely good-looking. Trust me, you’re going to want to meet me.