Yep. I got stood up by a beautiful but terrible man. FFS.
Quick bit of back story for anyone who cares…
I was in back-to-back relationships for the entirety of my 20’s, and I met my two long term boyfriends through university and work. Therefore, I’d never really had the opportunity to date. But, if you’ve ever read my blog before, you’ll know that I’ve gotten into the swing of dating in a BIG way while I’ve been roaming South America. Most of those experiences have been from Tinder (except that one time when I accidentally went on a date, but that story’s for another time), and so I haven’t generally known the dudes prior to our dates. At first this was a little bit terrifying, but I soon settled into the routine of meeting beautiful strangers.
This finely honed routine was shattered last week though, when I got stood up for the first time in my short dating career. Felipe just did not show up. WTF?
Lemme tell you a bit about Felipe: he’s 30, cute, and his apartment block has a swimming pool. That’s all you really need to know about a person before committing to spending an evening with them, in my humble opinion. Oh, and he speaks English, which is a lovely treat for lazy Spanish-fearing me.
So, after chatting over Whatsapp for a couple of days, we arranged to meet for a date. I happened to be visiting a friend who lives in Felipe’s neighbourhood one afternoon, so I suggested we meet there after he’d finished work. On date day Felipe and I Whatsapped all afternoon, and my friend and I spent the afternoon on his balcony drinking wine while I banged on about the gorgeous dude that I was set to be spending that evening with.
At around 6.30pm Felipe called and said he was leaving work and was going to come and pick me up on his motorbike in 20 minutes. I hurriedly topped up my makeup and necked the rest of my wine in anticipation of his imminent arrival.
AND THEN HE NEVER SHOWED.
He’s Latino, so I didn’t expected him to arrive bang on time, but after an hour went by I started to think that he might not be coming. By 11pm I was sure that he wasn’t.
Luckily it wasn’t a full-blown stand up scenario as I was at my friend’s house, so it wasn’t quite as humiliating as being sat in a restaurant at a half-empty table for two.
But still, ouch. What did I do for him to decide that actually, I wasn’t really worth the effort?
Did he take one last look over my Tinder pics and realise that actually I’m not all that? Did he somehow find out about how badly I snore? Did he find this blog where I disclose how many times I’ve wet myself as an adult?
We’ll never know, because I didn’t hear from him again.
As I waited for my Uber home, drunk from a six hour red wine binge and feeling a bit sick from the sympathy Domino’s that my mate had bought me, I started to worry that maybe something had happened to Felipe on his way over. The weather was bad and Medellín is notorious for motorbike accidents, and there’s no way that I could’ve been so wrong in thinking that this dude was a good guy, right?
So, I came to the only obvious conclusion: that he was dead.
I shared my theory with friends, who mostly agreed that he was no longer alive. And so I fretted about him.
I’m a fairly decent (and semi-deluded) human being, see, so even though this dude had potentially stood me up I was still genuinely worried about him. I asked a Colombian girlfriend to help me check the news for accidents, and I sent Felipe this message (which I thought was quite nice of me considering he was the reason I’d wasted my time shaving my legs that morning):
But I didn’t hear back from him and I continued to low-key worry that the nice man had died. That is, until one week later when I saw he was online on Whatsapp.
THIS PISSED ME OFF A LOT.
So, I did what any self-respecting woman would do, and sent a weird angry message:
Scary lady, huh? But, much to my surprise, he actually replied. With this:
What? Of course it’s Sophie. How many other English broads did you stand up last week? Jesus. I didn’t hear from him again, and that was that. Well, at least I know he’s not dead. It’s just a shame that I had to find out that he’s a dickhead in the process.
Update: I’m romancing another Latino dude at the moment. We’re three dates in and he calls me mi amor WHICH I BLOODY LOVE. Have I finally cracked dating in South America?
Probably not – I’ll tell you all about it when it goes tits up.