November 19th, 2025

NEW BLOG: I Went on a Date…And Ignored It Entirely
My friend met a guy and wanted to go for dinner with him but didn’t want to go alone, so without consulting me she arranged for a double date with an hour’s notice. I didn’t want to go, but as ever the networker, I thought it might be a new business contact at the very least and a free dinner. So with minimal effort (I didn't even brush my hair) I met them at the restaurant.
In Cyprus unfortunately smoking is allowed everywhere and I detest it, so before I had even sat down there was a cloud of cigarette smoke wafting over the table. So I shook hands and moved my chair back to almost the table behind, which was empty. Right then I was ready to leave.
I didn’t go to charm anyone, make small talk, or nod politely at the wine list. I went to support my friend and maybe, survive without pretending to be someone I’m not. But they had the personality of a piece of cardboard. Communication skills should definitely not be listed on their CV. So I pulled out my phone, something I would be normally horrified if anyone else did. There was a message from my friend sat next to me telling me I was rude. Like I give AF. I am not going to make small talk to people I am not interested in. I was existing quietly in the corner of someone else’s romance, not mine.
Society tells us we have to be engaged in every social setting. Smile, laugh, validate. But why? Just because I share the same space doesn’t mean I owe anyone performance points. And don’t get me wrong, when I am in a setting with people I want to be with, I am absolutely hilarious and entertaining. But this was not that night. I was thinking of ways to leave from the moment I arrived, without bailing on my friend.
I don’t want to date unless they are sending a car to pick me up and meet at the airport for a surprise trip. I don’t want to meet anyone unless it’s a business lead and I don’t want to make small talk with mediocre men in baggy polo necks and ill fitting jeans. So I whatsapped my kids, played on my wordsearch and did anything to kill time for an hour until my friend setted into her date.
Watching from my little bubble, I realized the scandal wasn’t my wordsearch. It was everyone else’s assumption that I should have been entertained or entertaining. I was present without being performative. And shockingly, nothing fell apart. The couple flirted awkwardly. I solved words. The world kept spinning.
So yes, call me rude. Call me awkward. Call me whatever you want. I call it self-preservation, with a dash of rebellion. Sometimes, doing nothing spectacularly well is better than pretending to care spectacularly badly.
Next time, maybe I’ll bring a book. Because in a world obsessed with performative politeness, I’ve found a loophole: polite invisibility.
I don’t think I was being rude, I didn’t even order dinner. I just sat there nursing a pina colada until I felt it was ok to leave. Because one thing I have learned about getting older is that I won’t be fake for anyone.

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