‘You’re the only person I’ve told that story to who got what I meant!’ This is Tristan. When he says things like that I don’t know whether to punch him or throw my arms around him.
Felix is a funny one, literally. When he joined the team I was wary in case I fell for him again, which I did. He makes me smile everyday.
I don’t know how Adrien became my agony aunt, but he did. This is him at his absolute best. He’s beautiful and bright and when I’m having a shit day he puts a bit of rope and a post-it with ‘Bye’ written on it on my desk and then I don’t feel so bad.
This is a love letter to the men I see everyday. Thank God.
You will meet The One, the love of your life, the man you want to marry. Then a few weeks later, by which time you’ll have the order of his profile pictures by heart and all your friends will know his star sign – a few weeks later you’ll unexpectedly run into the guy and wonder what strong drugs you were on.
You will install every dating app known to man. After several weeks of Hinge-ing and Happn-ing you’ll start to wonder if the cute, sun-kissed guys on your screen actually exist… before remembering that cute and sun-kissed isn’t your type.
You will occasionally meet nice, attractive people the old-fashioned way – through friends. Nothing will happen with them either.
When you look through your 2016 diary, you’re annoyed to discover Valentine’s Day falls on a Sunday again. Even though you’re single, were single on the last Valentine’s Day and have no reason to suppose you won’t be single in a month and a half’s time.
You embrace the New Year as a clean slate in dating terms, an opportunity to start anew: to put aside bad dating practices such as reminding guys who have forgotten about you that you exist. That includes the guy from Tinder who sent you a ‘Happy Christmas’ message but won’t commit to a date.
At 5pm on 1 January you send him a message saying ‘Happy New Year’.
BUT you won’t be carrying memories of failed relationships over into the New Year. No. You’ve decided – and this applies to both parties, to another human being over whose feelings you have no control, as well as your own, over which you have possibly even less control – that feelings are like annual leave: they can’t be carried over.
Which fortunately chimes with how I feel about the whole thing. I know I should be fine with it. I should be, like, that’s totally cool man, shrug it off and go out dancing with my girlfriends.
NOBODY DOES THAT.
But that’s not me. Maybe I’ve got too attached too quickly. Maybe I want a boyfriend so badly I’m ignoring all the reasons it probably won’t work long-term. Maybe this is more about pride and ego and wanting to feel special than my feelings for the guy. But whatever the reason, I’m not OK with it. So I tell him.