Coincidently, around the time I decided to try dating, a schoolmate of my good friend started messaging me. We had met a month previously at my friend’s housewarming party, but I barely remembered anything about him due to a concussion I received that evening. I had written him off as I wasn’t ‘dating’ at that point, he was practically the opposite of my type, and I had been warned that he was a player. It’s worth mentioning, that The Douchebag was a sweet gentleman in the beginning— he would pick me up from wherever I was, we would walk his dog, he would carry me over mud puddles in the park, offer me his coat, etc. After a couple weeks of hanging out I thought I’d better run him by my mates for approval. They confirmed that The Douchebag was not remotely my type, but that he seemed nice and into me so perhaps I should give it a go. The movie hangouts and doggy walks continued. I went to his house. He went to mine. I was invited to a party with his friends, but it turned into a lad’s night at the last minute and I’m certainly not one to begrudge a lad’s night. We hung out the following day instead. A few days later his phone was acting up. I had to leave for an emergency so our plans were put on hold. I returned on the weekend. He picked me up and we went to hang out at my house. He kept mentioning the ‘hot masseuse at work that’s dating his mate, but fancies him’. I found it unnecessary. We started talking about his reputation and history. I mentioned that I was enjoying our time together. He said that he doesn’t usually stick to one girl but that “this is going pretty well so far”. Shortly thereafter he received a text and said he needed to go pick up his mum. We made verbal plans to hang out the coming Wednesday. I didn’t hear from him.
To add insult to injury, I had added him on snapchat and later that week he snapped me asking ‘who is this?’ (my handle isn’t indicative of my actual name). Not knowing I had been blanked yet, I responded with a snap of my cat in my room. The Douchebag replied asking ‘still not sure who this is, where do you live cat?’. That was how I wised up and realized that I was an insignificant one of many, unrecognizable. I had been played. Thankfully, I never heard from The Douchebag again.
That was my introduction to the fabled “British guy disappearing act” or simply “disappearing act”. I was annoyed that The Douchebag would be so cowardly, inconsiderate, and rude as to simply vanish but decided to take it in stride. That’s how I ended up on Tinder.
