Welcome back to the blog — where love lives, dies, and occasionally reeks of church. With summer in full swing and my dating life still in hibernation, I’ve had front-row seats to the romantic escapades of others... from behind the bar.
I’ll be honest — I’ve completely given up on dating the past few months. Not a single date. Nada. Zilch. I probably should get back out there now that I’m on summer holidays and have all the time in the world to emotionally spiral over someone I barely know.
Although working moonlight bar shifts in the centre of Milton Keynes has been a front-row seat to the dating circus — and I’ve seen enough. It’s like Love Island meets mild public intoxication, and I’m the bartender-slash-confessional priest, quietly wiping down the bar and pretending not to eavesdrop.
There’s one girl who’s had a full conveyor belt of dates, and honestly? I’m rooting for her. She told me she’s on a mission to meet her husband, and in the same spirit as 2-years-ago me, she’s out here doing the work — date after date after date. She said, “If it doesn’t happen, at least no one can say I didn’t try.” Respect.
As for me... I’ve just had absolutely no desire to date. It genuinely feels like I’ve exhausted all possible men within a 10-mile radius, and now the only people I seem to come across are ones I’ve already rejected. I’m literally recycling men.
But maybe I'll get back on it. Maybe. Because let me tell you — nothing kills your own dating buzz like spotting your past mistakes walking in. Just yesterday, I had to do a tactical sprint to the toilets when Smelly Pew Guy showed up. And although it’s been years since we went on a date, it still haunts me. Yes, I ghosted him. No, I don’t regret it. The man smelled like a damp Bible in a church that hasn’t been aired out since 1842. But how do you say that to someone? “Hey, it’s not you, it’s the centuries of mildew you seem to be storing in your jumper”?
So that’s where I’m at: teetering between a romantic comeback and staying firmly in my passive observer era. The next post might be an update on my positively enthralling love life... or just another tale from behind the bar.
Cheers to another summer of love — although maybe just not mine. I’ll be behind the bar, watching yours unfold... from a safe, hygienic distance.
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