Chapter 2
Multiple men wearing hats in every single one of their photos – clearly bald and hatfishing
Asian men with Black women fetishes (I always seem to score the highest in this category and I didn’t know why)
Men under five foot nine inches. (No discrimination here, but as someone who stands at five foot nine and wears heels, it would be nice to at least be eye-height with someone every now and again)
Andrew Tate/red pill enthusiasts
And one guy who was very clearly racist [‘only into non-tanned, non-ethnic women, ’]. Note to self: read profiles thoroughly before swiping
I sighed and swiped right through the twenty-eight men who had attempted to match with me, then switched over to the main app.
I glanced through today’s line-up of available men, questioning whether my standards were simply too high.
In my head I breezed through my list of what I wanted in my perfect man:
A man
Live/grew up in London
Preferably South London
At least six foot two
No preference on weight or build
Nice teeth and lips
Nice eyes
Well spoken
Tattoos
Educated [university level and beyond]
University must be one of the top 20 best universities in the UK
Earning at least ￡50k a year
A stable, steady job that isn’t so demanding that it takes time away from moi
Should either have hair, or be completely bald with a full/long beard
Dick size at least six inches and thick in girth; preferably circumcised
Kind, generous, sensitive, fun blah blah blah
Must have own car and live alone. No flatmates
No red pill/Alpha male beliefs
Must ABSOLUTELY NOT listen to any male podcasts
Must not be a super active user of Facebook or Instagram
Must not have more Instagram followers than me
Must not be any kind of social media influencer
Non-cigarette smoker [weed OK on occasion]
Must not invest in or have anything to do with Crypto currency or ‘stocks’
Should be open to pets (especially cats)
I reckoned my list was pretty reasonable, to say the least. I was aware that I had slightly high standards, but it was only because I’ve always wanted the best for myself as someone who consistently brings a lot to the table.
Having the man I deserve, is what I deserved; whether I was going to find him on these apps, however, was a different story altogether.
I got up and walked to the bathroom, phone in hand, swiping mindlessly while my mental checklist lingered in the back of my mind;
Right swipe on Rico the five foot eight Spanish PR Executive.
Right swipe on Matthew, bald architect, holding someone else’s baby [allegedly].
Right swipe on Kevin the curly-haired bartender who liked to kayak and surf for fun.
As I brushed my teeth, I stopped at a profile that had caught my eye.
Michael, 35. Lives in Battersea. Full-time Personal Trainer. A Christian. Capricorn.
I scrolled through his photos; liking what I saw.
He was six foot three with a full beard, and his hair twisted into cornrows.
He dressed reasonably well, with a gorgeous smile, dimples and a muscular dad-bod build.
He looked toned, but wasn’t too muscular, which was what I liked.
He had several photos of him at the gym working out with his clients, as well as a couple of photos of him at Notting Hill Carnival and a few of him celebrating Nigerian Independence Day.
Normally, I try to stay away from Nigerian men and their chaos, but I wanted to make an exception for this Michael guy; he was pretty sexy.
And a Christian, which would go down well with my parents. His profile simply read:
‘Not looking for anything serious right now, but if my dog likes you then maybe we can give it a try!’
An animal lover too? Bingo. I swiped left on Michael as well as a couple of other potentials, and then stripped off to take a shower. This year was going to be the year that I found ‘The One’. I just knew it.
After my shower, I quickly got dressed, grabbed a flapjack from the cupboard and made my way to clock into work.
I worked as a Medical Secretary in the Trauma and Orthopaedics department at St Thomas’ Hospital and had been working there for the last four years.
My role wasn’t primarily patient-facing, so I rarely felt the need to wear make-up – one of the few perks of the job that I really appreciated.
It was a stable but monotonous job, and for the most part, the office was shared by just two of us – me and my manager-turned-best work buddy, Kofi, who served as the office coordinator for three of the six orthopaedic surgeons in our department.
I managed the other three surgeons, though since they spent most of their time at their private practices, my daily workload was relatively light.
I wasn’t complaining though; it was a well-paid job and even though I didn’t get to put my Law degree to good use, I had a good thing going at the hospital; it was peaceful, for the most part.
I sauntered through the main concourse, briefly stopping at the Pret a Manger by the elevators to grab myself a flat white and a pain au chocolate before making my way up to my office on the tenth floor. I bounded through the door, breakfast in hand, to see that Kofi was already at his desk.
‘Here she is; Queen Cassie herself. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you come in this early, you know? How come?’
I switched my computer on and scoffed while giving him a half-hug from behind.
I may or may not have been known to show up between ten to twenty minutes late on occasion.
I slumped into my chair as my old, dusty computer whirred and hummed until it reached the start-up screen.
‘Not you trying to call me out for OCCASIONALLY being late. I had a bit of an early night to be honest so I guess I thought I’d try something rare and actually be ahead of time today. ’
Kofi swivelled his chair around and fixed his gaze on me, his frameless square spectacles teetering precariously on the bridge of his nose, giving him the appearance of peering down at me in judgement.
I’d previously told Kofi about my meetup with Calvin a week or so prior but hadn’t updated him on yesterday’s shenanigans.
After I’d filled him in, Kofi exhaled deeply and turned back to his screen in silence.
‘You good, Kof?’ I said, blowing cool my flat white as I logged in to today’s tasks.
‘Yeah, I’m cool, Cass; it’s just—’ I heard him swivel his chair back around as I turned to do the same.
Mrs Johnson’s hip referral letter would have to wait another five minutes.
‘I just – like – what makes you go for these types of guys? I just don’t understand it.
You’re a great person with a lot to offer and I just don’t understand what’s not clicking.
What are you like on dates? Are you confident?
Because that’s what men like the most, you know, it’s more than just how a woman looks; it’s how she carries herself. ’
I looked at Kofi up and down silently, trying as hard as possible not to feel slightly offended.
As if men’s lack of interest in me was my fault?
Absolutely not. ‘Mm,’ I started, sugar-coating my irritation with a smile.
‘I’m actually fabulous on dates – I don’t do the whole wallflower act or anything like that.
If anything, I’m the entertainment. So no, men going out of their way to find me unattractive isn’t a “confidence issue”.
That’s a them problem, to be honest.’ I was tired of people assuming that just because I was fat, I automatically had a problem with confidence.
Can’t a fat bitch just be happy and thriving?
‘Oh, don’t try it, man.’ Kofi smiled coyly as he turned back around.
‘I didn’t mean it like that – I guess I’m just struggling to understand why someone wouldn’t be bowled over at you – it’s nothing to do with how you look so I just wonder if it’s something else,’ he replied carefully.
‘You’re a good woman and you deserve someone special, you know? ’
If I flinched, I didn’t show it. I let out a weird and awkward laugh.
Gratitude and embarrassment tangled in my stomach, each one trying to edge out the other.
‘Aww, bless you. You always know what to say to cheer me up,’ I replied, rubbing his shoulder and turning back around.
‘Thank you so much. Hopefully said man will just fall into my lap at some point.’
Kofi touched my hand briefly as he turned towards me, his eyes barely hiding a mischievous glimmer. ‘My absolute pleasure, and hey? Worst-case scenario, you can just hire an escort, innit? That’s what all the strong, independent women are doing these days, haha.’
‘Woooow, hilarious. Have you forgotten where we’re from?
We don’t do those kinds of things, man. Can you imagine?
!’ I laughed and rolled my eyes at the audacity of his suggestion.
I was all for sex positivity and all but the thought of being a woman and hiring the sexual services of a man …
something about that screamed ‘desperation’ to me.
I knew Kofi was joking, but was my demeanour really sending out signals of obvious desperation like that?
Did Kofi think of me as somewhat pathetic?
‘Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m just playing with you, Cass,’ Kofi replied, a wide, toothy grin spreading across his face. ‘I know you wouldn’t do anything like that. You’re gorgeous and you have a great personality – any man would be an idiot not to pursue things with you.’