28May2026 Diary
Why should I become a caretaker for an oldtimed man? What will you give me a flat? A car? Thats how she answered my marriage proposal, blunt as a hammer, looking at me as if I werent a man in my prime but a lastseason item left on the supermarket aisle, forgotten when the discount period passed. In that instant, for the first time in years, I wondered whether the world had finally turned upside down: at 43 Im already being labelled a geezer, and the price is being slapped on the relationship right on the table, no flirting, no games, just straightforward commerce.
Im 43. Ive never been married. Sure, Ive had relationships two cohabitations, each lasting about two years, decent, normal, nothing dramatic, just split up like adults. I used to see that as a plus: no alimony, no exfiles, no baggage, no endless comparisons or fights. Yet in todays dating scene that seems less a virtue than a suspicious anomaly, as if being single is a defect, a hidden flaw that failed some invisible certification.
I made a firm decision: its time. I want a family, a woman by my side attractive, wellkept, young. I wont lie; Id like someone under 28, someone who brings a smile to my friends faces and elicits that inevitable, slightly jealous question, Where did you find her? I see nothing shameful in that. I earn a decent salary, own a terraced house in Leeds, have a reliable Mini, I dont drink or smoke, I look after myself on paper, Im a respectable option on the market.
But the market, I soon discovered, runs on a different set of rules. I wasnt the buyer; I was the product, and not even a hot one.
**First date** She was 26, we met through a dating app, chatted for a week. She laughed at my jokes, wrote youre so interesting, talking to you is easy. I thought this could be a normal connection, no strings attached, just human contact. The moment we sat down, the conversation sprinted into a different lane.
She scanned me, unflinchingly, and within fifteen minutes asked:
Do you have a car?
My own flat?
How much do you earn?
I realised then that this wasnt a date; it was an interview. I wasnt even a candidate, merely an asset being tested for liquidity. The odd thing was her composure she asked these questions as calmly as one might ask, Tea or coffee?
When I turned the tables and asked, What are you looking for? she smiled and replied, Comfort. I need a man who can meet my needs. No hint, no coyness just a price list.
**Second date** A 24yearold, gorgeous, polished the sort of pictureperfect girl you think is worth the effort. We dined at a bistro in Bath; I paid for the meal, as expected. The talk drifted to the future.
I want a family, children, a solid relationship, I said.
She looked at me, unfazed, and answered, And what can you give?
I was taken aback. What do you mean?
She pressed on, You want a younger woman, right? She has choices. Why should she pick you?
Then she laid it out: Youre older, so you need to compensate with resources a house, a car, money, a comfortable lifestyle. Otherwise, whats the point? I tried to argue that love, compatibility, respect mattered too, but she shrugged, Those are secondary. The foundation comes first.
And then, calmly, she repeated the line that had haunted me: Why should I be a caretaker for an oldtimed man? She added, If you want a young woman, you have to match what she expects. I left that evening feeling as if Id been taken apart on a conveyor belt and appraised like a used car.
The worst part isnt the odd encounters; its the system behind them.
**Third story** truly knocked the wind out of me. Id been chatting with a 27yearold named Charlotte. She was the first to message, flirted, asked plenty of questions I started to think maybe not everything was rotten. Then she sent a voice note:
Listen, lets be honest. I need a man who will support me. I dont want to work myself to the bone. If youre not ready, dont waste either of our time.
I asked, What do you bring to the table?
She laughed, Me? Myself.
Thats when something clicked inside me. Myself as a commodity. A fullservice package with payment due upfront. The absurdity is that they truly dont see the problem. They set conditions openly, and if you dont fit, youre simply written off, no drama, no regret, just another unsuitable option crossed off a list.
Ironically, I used to think the fault lay with women that theyd gone soft, that their demands were inflated, that they were purely mercenary. The more dates I attended, the more I realised the issue isnt just them. I walked into this market expecting to choose, only to become the one being chosen.
I wanted a young, pretty, convenient partner. They wanted someone stable, wellheeled, profitable. I chased looks; they chased resources. In their logic everything is fair just uncomfortable for me.
Its a bitter pill to swallow when you realise youre not unique, not the one, but just another item being compared, graded, discarded. The hurt isnt the rejections; its the moment you see yourself not as a man but as a proposal with terms, conditions, an expiry date. Perhaps Im simply late to the party. Maybe I should have built a family earlier, before everything turned into a transaction. Perhaps I clung too long to the illusion that time was on my side.
Now reality is what it is. To get what I want, I must either meet the current demands or reshape my own expectations. And Im not ready for either.
That, I think, is the most unsettling realisation Ive had in recent years.