“Just so you know, I’ve frozen my eggs.” She delicately perched herself on the chair opposite, just as the waiter handed us the menus.
I took a quick scan to see if I was missing something. Were frozen eggs on the menu? At the time, I hadn’t been on a date in more than eight years. I was just turning 30.
Yes, dating apps and the internet existed back then, kids, but what had developed since was a whole new world of etiquette, games, language, and coded behaviours that I was about to be submerged in without a life jacket, trying not to drown. Dating in your late-30s? Frozen eggs and more will be on the menu.
Let me be clear: I didn’t want to be out there dating again. My five-year relationship had ended – we tried, but it was done – and I started dating out of pure panic. Who would date me? A single father, a stand-up comedian, still sharing a home with his ex? Take a number for that queue ladies.
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My first date, I thought, went well. A quick drink before my gig, nice chats, cool vibes. I closed the date with what I believed was the obvious line: “I’d like to do this again”.
The scrunched-up look on her face still cuts me to the bone: “You’ll probably want to play the field first.” What did that mean? Surely if there’s an attraction, we meet again, no? Later that night, the text arrived: “I just don’t want to be your first one back”.
It seemed like if I tried, I was doing it wrong, and if I tried to be open and not try, I was still doing it wrong. One date took place in a park. Takeaway coffees, tight schedules – just a 30-minute hello. I left thinking: there’s no way we can know anything about each other in 30 minutes. How wrong I was. In that half-hour, she had determined I wasn’t ready for a long-term relationship or to have more children within two years. She was on a schedule and I didn’t make the cut according to the WhatsApp essay I received the next morning. Bear in mind: we didn’t even know each other’s surnames.
[ ‘I was overheard saying my date wasn’t very good-looking. Now he’s blocking me’Opens in new window ]
I did, however, meet some amazing people. And while it’s not the official point of dating, I’ve made some brilliant friends. Some of the biggest laughs came from evenings with a fellow single parent. There’s nothing like bonding over shared trauma after sneaking out of the home she still shared with her ex, so we can sip non-alcoholic beers, talk about parenting, Bluey, and how we don’t understand why people hate their own children.
And then there were the others – evenings of intimacy with some like-minded creative type, someone who got you the second they kissed you. They carried your heart, told you there was nothing wrong with you – before vanishing back to wherever they came from.
Of course, there are the truly embarrassing moments. Like driving home late from a gig in Galway when someone I’d never met in person messages: “House is free, it’s my birthday, I’ve chosen you”. So, at 2am, I’m dropped off on a road, “could be fun, dude,” says my driver. Ten minutes later, I am pacing around an estate in the rain while her messages have stopped. How do I explain this to a Garda convinced I am not scoping out a house to rob? Taxi, home. The next morning: a flood of texts. Expletives, apologies. She’d fallen asleep.
What woke her? The candles she’d lit had set the curtain on fire. She woke up in the smoke and had to put out the flames. Then: “Are you free tonight?” Followed by her anger at my rejection: “You can’t be serious – that’s it?”
I get it. Women are scarred by men’s behaviour. Many dating conversations were spent listening to stories of ghosting, or about the latest post on the Facebook page Are We Dating the Same Guy? where women post who they’re seeing to see if there are any red flags.
And the men don’t help themselves. I’ve seen the profiles: Leitrim jersey; balaclava; holding a fish. If not, they can’t seem to keep their tops on. No wonder ‘the ick’ exists.
That said, women have their quirks too. Profiles that read like job descriptions: “You better be able to make me laugh and be emotionally available”. Pick one. Also, loving dogs is not a personality. Neither is wellness. Or yoga. Or your gym pics.
[ Online dating: ‘Irish people are terrible on the apps’Opens in new window ]
Don’t worry, I know I’m the problem. Being a comedian doesn’t exactly scream stable, grounded individual gliding calmly through life. That’s why we do what we do. Does it sting when someone you liked ends up engaged to an accountant? Yes. But also, no. I can’t change who I am.
And who I am is complicated. “Do you feel the need to be funny all the time?” is a common date question. The answer? No. I get paid to do that. And sorry if I’m not funny on the date. That guy you saw on stage? I created him. He comes out when I want.
I also hear: “I have to be careful what I say now or you’ll use it in your act”. The ego behind that? That you’ll say something so genius I’ll scrap decades of work just to fit it into my set? Not to mention that I’ve yet to be on a date with anyone who is funnier than my seven year old.
Let me be clear: nothing anyone has ever said to me has made it into my act. However, it may end up in a column.
