7 Reasons Why Dating In Your Twenties Is A Hateful Pastime

Preparing for dates over the age of twenty-two and the seven reasons why it is probably the most hideous and self-loathing activity in the world.

1. Clothing (Optional)

No, actually, scrap that faux-sexy headline: clothing will definitely not be optional tonight. Clothing is one hundred percent necessary, preferably clothing that covers up all the body areas that started to decay pretty much the moment you stepped out of university. Also, your clothes simultaneously need to demonstrate that while you are still young and exciting, you are no doubt firmly in charge of your life direction and are very confident in the choices you’ve made so far. So… yeah. That rules out pretty much every item you own.

2. Personal Grooming

Like a Pedigree Chum model, it is essential on a date that you have all of your wheres and whyfors in order. Or at least, it would be if you planned to have any sex. Because obviously you COULD have sex. You’ve still got it (have I? Oh god. I hope I have. My Mum laughed at me when I suggested I might not have it any more. I hope it is just in hibernation). But at the same time, it’s a lot of effort. And you’d need to change your sheets at some point before or after. And tonight you don’t really feel like taking off your underwear. It’s keeping everything warm down there. Who needs cold genitals? Not me.

3. What To Even Do

Considering that every romantic comedy ever features at least one montage of people enjoying a ton of charmingly quirky yet sexy and romantic dates, it is amazing how quickly a gigantic black hole opens up whenever you have to think of Something To Do. Into that black hole falls every idea you have ever had, and all knowledge of every activity in the entire world. Realistically, you just want to go to the pub, drink just enough to get you mildly battered and and have barely any human interaction. A date requires you to think of something that conveys just how fun and exciting and spontaneous you are, and how your capacity for laughter is essentially unending. At this point, the only thing you can think of that falls into those categories is bowling.

4. Bowling

Oh yeah, you forgot. Bowling is fucking awful.

5. Topics Of Conversation

The concept of ‘topics of conversation’ sounds like you will be holding a fistful of flash cards that say things like “Current Situation in Syria” and “Overfishing” and jamming them violently into your mouth during quiet moments. Should you ask them what their favourite book is? No, terrible idea. Because what is my favourite book? I can’t think of any books. Have I even ever read a book? And what about things… Do I like things? Have I ever enjoyed anything ever? What if they ask what I do in my spare time? What if I accidentally mention what I do in my spare time?

6. Accidentally Mentioning What You Do In Your Spare Time

Because the list of things you do on your days off goes something like: “I listen to The Smiths. I cry quite a lot. I read the ending to the Amber Spyglass over and over and feel tearful about the injustice of alternative universes. I lie in bed for long periods of time and imagine moving to Italy and unwittingly falling in love with the editor of a national newspaper, and thinking about how they would realise my journalistic potential and hire me immediately to write a satirical column about my life. I also spend a lot of time thinking through the plotline of the seven Harry Potter books and acknowledging that I’ll never write anything of that magnitude or depth probably ever. I plan what I would pick as my Desert Island Discs and then spend days feeling insecure about my music tastes and knowing I could never handle the fire of Radio 4. I have existential crises pretty much every time I see anyone who is better dressed than I am. I feel ashamed about my age, whatever age it might be, and I routinely use the word ‘haggard’ to describe myself internally. So… Yeah. I don’t do much. What do you do?”

7. A Get-Out Clause

By this point in your mental self-buggery, it is fairly inevitable that tonight will probably not go well. You will need to leave early, and it is important to have a get-out clause. Wait. Is it? Actually, isn’t that what you do when you’re 18 and you have friends who will be awake at 10pm and remember to call your phone to tell you there’s been an emergency? None of my friends will be up, or even have the short-term memory capacity for non-essential tasks. You know what? If it’s terrible, I’ll just tell them and then leave. Because realistically it probably will be terrible, and I’m a grownup and I can be firm about what I want. And considering it is bound to be terrible, should I even go? I could stay in bed and watch Breaking Bad and cry instead. Doesn’t that sound much better? Yes. Yes it does.