I have become the world’s worst ‘Date Flake’.

Words by Michelle Andrews.

THANK GOD you’re here.

I’m so freaking glad you could make it. Brew your fine self a lil cybertea and pull up a lil cyberchair, because your cyberhelp is urgently cyberrequired.

I am writing this to you all because I have spiralled out of control, and writing this is my very own psychotic form of therapy. I would see an expert to discuss this matter, but as you already know I am dirt broke, and seeing an actual therapist is something I am lightyears away from being able to afford. Plus, why pay a therapist when I’ve got you guys? Right?!

Yep, this is now one huge cyberspace intervention meeting.


So, this is my issue: I have turned into a bit (read: a lot) of a flake. And not of the delicious chocolate variety, either.

Hello, lover.

Hello, lover.

Unfortunately, the sheer sight of me does not make anyone salivate (except for maybe my dog, Peanut… thanks Peanut). Instead, I AM THE WORST KIND OF FLAKE THERE IS. I am actually an evil flake. And I say the following with a deep sadness in my soul:

I, loyal readers, am a Date Flake.

What’s a Date Flake, you say?

The Date Flake (TDF), A definition.

A highly irritating strain of human who agrees to going on dates, but never actually goes on said dates. TDF is regularly seen texting back innocuous and confusing statements such as “Yeah, sure, we’ll sort it out later this week!” and “I’m so sorry, I’ve been so sick all day, I don’t think I’m gonna make it *insert generic sad-face emoji here*”.

Synonyms: Pure evil, liar.
Antonyms: Normal, considerate person.

So I’d like to officially introduce myself to you all as Michelle The-Date-Flake Andrews. A single, twenty-something woman who will agree to seeing a member of the opposite sex in a highly awkward, sexually-tense setting, but never actually follow through on that promise. Instead, I cancel all set dates and resume my regular weeknight schedule.

What I do instead on weeknights instead of going on dates:

  1. Eat leftover pasta in fridge (become too lazy to reheat, eat cold instead).
  2. Watch Kylie Jenner’s/various Instagram models’ SnapChat MyStories.
  3. Hate on Kylie Jenner/Instagram models and their 150-second-long MyStories. Say phrases like “oh my GOD she is SO obsessed with herself” and “ugh I am going to delete her soon she’s SO ANNOYING”.
  4. Fail to delete any of them, proceed to re-watch their MyStories about 14 times instead.
  5. Cry about the fact that I don’t get paid to promote teeth whitener, teatoxes, body scrubs, vacuums cleaners…

    I find it so hilarious that @StephClaireSmith can promote Dyson vacuums on her Insta and nobody bats an eyelid. APPARENTLY THERE IS NOTHING HER HOTNESS CANNOT SELL.

    Side note: I find it so hilarious that @StephClaireSmith can promote Dyson vacuums on her Insta and nobody bats an eyelid. ACCORDING TO DYSON THERE IS NOTHING HER HOTNESS CANNOT SELL.

  6. Repeat step 1.

Whilst the reason I have become a Date Flake is unclear, there’s no denying I am one. One of my guy mates puts it down to the fact that, apparently, “Michelle is just too single”.

Too single. Yep, that’s a thing now…

For the record, yes, I’m more than comfortable being single, but that doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t be equally comfortable in a relationship. I’m very open to the prospect of being in a relationship, it’s just that being in one is certainly not a priority right now. I’m not the type of girl to feel helplessly lonely just because I don’t have a boyfriend. And more importantly than the whole ‘lonely’ thing, I really, really like sleeping diagonally.

Das me!

Das me! MMMMM dat roomy diagonal comfort.

I honestly think the reason I have become a Date Flake is because I HATE the lead up to first dates. I don’t just dislike them. I don’t just get ‘a little bit nervous’. I EFFING HATE THEM.

I despise the fact that there’s a shitload of pressure on my appearance, and that I have to wear something that’s the perfect balance between cute and sexy. I hate the fact that first dates are practically two-hour-long job interviews with lattes involved. I hate the fact that you both scramble to fill in any moments of silence because there’s nothing worse than awkward silence on a first date. I hate the fact that, in order to fill aforementioned silence, first dates are filled with questions that WE ALREADY BOTH KNOW THE ANSWERS TO BECAUSE WE TEXTED THEM TO EACH OTHER LAST WEEK.

  • “Oh yeah, how many brothers do you have again?” (Two, I know. Luke and Matthew. You snapchat them to me on a daily basis.)
  • “So what is it that do you do for work?” (I did not forget, you’re in marketing.)
  • “Tell me about your trip!” (I already stalked the Instagram photos, you and I both know it. So skip the details, tell it quick.)

I don’t like the shifty looks you get from waiters on a first date. I don’t like the tedious process of picking out a meal from a menu and the panicky internal monologue I go through every freakin’ time.

“The salads all look boring and uninteresting and also… fuck salads. Over my dead body will I be paying $23.50 for a shitty assortment of leaves. I don’t care that it has pomegranate seeds and is laced with gold, I refuse to pay over $15 for it.

Oh God, this waiter totally knows this is a first date. Ugh, I hate that.

Okay, so I think I want the burger, but last time I ate a burger I ended up with half of it on my shirt. I looked like a crazed, food-covered-lunatic who hadn’t eaten since frilly socks with school shoes was a thing. Okay, so burger’s out. Aaaaaand so is the pizza. Damn it.

I could get the salmon, but what if this dude kisses me later and I taste like a seafood platter? Even worse, what if I get the garlic prawns WHAT WILL MY MOUTH TASTE LIKE THEN?! Fucking hell, I’ll just get the stupid salad.”

See? SEE?! Too much effort and too much drama for someone who is literally too lazy to reheat pasta.

The worst thing is that I flake out on the same guys time and time again. It takes about four last-minute flakes before they realise that I am THE WORST PERSON IN ALL OF THE LANDS and give up (and rounds of applause for them, because lasting four separate flakes is a decent effort. If I was dealing with myself and was flaked on ONCE I would run for the freakin’ hills and never ever respond to a single text from said flaker ever again). If you are reading this, and you are one of those guys, then I sincerely apologise.

My brain just cannot deal with the anxiety and tension that comes with formal, public first dates. Which is literally the ONLY reason I cancel them. And that is horrible, because I am being completely selfish, and very inconsiderate of the person I am cancelling on. Cancelling plans last minute is a shitty, shitty thing to do, and it’s making me look like a shitty person (which I am not, I pinky swear).

So, to any guys I have cancelled formal dates with this year, I am sorry. I am indeed a Date Flake, but I swear to Zoe Foster Blake (my personal GOD) that I will change. I will get better and I will stop being so shitty.

I promise to stop being a Date Flake.