If I'm being generous, I'd say the pandemic has made most of us a bit less socially competent and a bit more nuts. Sympathies aside, when one's ego is already on a lockdown-induced knife-edge, a text like that will leave you weeping on the loo at 8am. And scrounging for a new profile picture.
Another date with another man never had a sequel - he said he'd rather wait till a level where we could go to "a bar/house". He feared "things" would slip into the "friend zone", be "unable to progress". Bit presumptuous, I thought at the time. Now I think the guy had a point.
People in long-term relationships have written (ignorantly) about how dating in a lockdown gives you time to get to know the other person without physical intimacy complicating matters. Everyone from Julian Assange downwards will tell you there's only so far that logic can go. If you've ever attempted a long-distance romance with vast spells between real-life encounters, you'll know it's exceedingly difficult to maintain the momentum of an emotional connection without anywhere to er, put it.
Right now, we're negotiating long-distance romances with would-be paramours who live five minutes up the road. The universally acknowledged key to dating app success is to meet offline as soon as you've matched with someone who shows an even homoeopathic hint of promise. Plenty of perfectly suitable suitors aren't spellbinding in text form, and those who are sometimes fall short when conversing out loud. It's best to sort out who's who ASAP, to avoid wasting everyone's time.
In lockdown, these rules do not apply. Motivation and mood exist on diverging roller coaster tracks - if the comms drop off, it could well be because the person on the other end of the phone lost interest. But it could also be because they've barely summoned the will to get out of bed that day, let alone the will required to appear beguiling or failing that, remotely sane. You're willing to flog dead horses for far longer than you would otherwise, because you simply cannot be sure the horse isn't actually just languishing.
Should mood and motivation and weather align miraculously in a way that supports leaving the house, you can meet for a walk or a bev outdoors. Even then, the pre-emptive apologies about hair length, the presence of practical footwear and the harsh, harsh light of day can indeed push you into the friend zone. If you somehow manage to sidestep that sinkhole, you're still left with the conundrum of how to rack up quality time when you're not inclined to talk. In real life, if you're feeling tired or sad or just not all that charming, you can pop on an episode of Succession, snuggle up and call it a night. In lockdown, banter fizzles to nothingness and all you get to snuggle is a headful of paranoid thoughts.
Last year, the UK's leading sexual health charity published advice on safe sex: the pandemic edition. Masturbation was encouraged, as was asking prospective partners about telltale symptoms and eschewing kissing in favour of sexual positions that weren't face-to-face. Masks were suggested, I can only assume very half-heartedly.
But that was before vaccines arrived to save the day. As an appointment viewer of 1pm Press Conference Season 2, I can tell you the matter of how or when intimacy between fully vaccinated strangers can occur in the pre-or-post traffic light era has never been addressed from the nation's most famous podium.
So it was I emailed the Ministry of Health, opening with "This is a serious question."
"In short," I concluded, "could you please advise me and indeed all the other singletons of Auckland what kinds of physical intimacy between non-bubble mates is allowed under alert level 3/3.2/3.1 and traffic lights red/orange… I would welcome any hypothetical scenarios you're able to comment on."
I was redirected to the Department of Prime Minister and Cabinet.
The paraphrased response was that household bubbles can be merged exclusively with one other in their region at level 3.1/3.2 "to include an intimate partner", with the consent of household members aged over 18. Booty calls (also paraphrased) can take place at Unicorn Level 3.3 and also level 2. I was reminded of a friend's "picnic" with an App Man that culminated in his being folded swiftly into her bubble, along with various members of her extended family, after prolonged heavy petting in a parked car. Forty-eight hours later, he was never to be seen nor heard from again.
The point is, bubble rules aren't watertight. And yet, I have remained chaste to a fault - living alone but bubbling with two handsome homosexuals who bestow appropriately perfunctory hugs, sending strangers increasingly deranged voice messages, and steadfastly resisting writing in all-caps on my dating profile that all I want for Christmas is a fully vaxxed man to flout with.
In the red setting of the forthcoming traffic light system, some reporters have deduced that household bubbles will be abolished altogether. When the clock strikes 11.59pm on whatever ends up being Auckland's Freedom Day, I wouldn't be at all surprised if the streets throng with singletons, eyes twinkling, masks cast aside, ready to reconnect the good old-fashioned way.
