We’ll just call him “6’7 from Seattle”. Works in HR. We met on Bumble, and at first, it felt promising. Our phone connection was actually amazing — long conversations, easy laughter, a real sense of flow that you don’t often find when you’re swiping through the dating wasteland. He asked good questions, he seemed genuinely interested, and I’d hang up the phone at night smiling. That doesn’t happen often.
So when he suggested coming down to see me, I was excited. He picked Friday, said he’d be here before noon. His idea. His timeline. I was impressed that he wanted to make the effort.
But Friday morning rolls around, and he calls me. “Actually, I can’t come today. I’ll come tomorrow instead. I didn’t plan for today.”
Excuse me? You’re the one who picked the day. You’re the one who told me you’d be here before noon. And now, the morning of, you’re suddenly not ready? That was my first red flag. Honestly, I should have let it end there. But because I wanted to believe the guy I connected with on the phone was the same guy I’d meet in person, I gave him another chance.
By the time he finally rolled in, it was almost 7 p.m. Friday evening. Not noon. Not even mid-afternoon. Evening. And the energy he walked in with? Off. Heavy. Awkward as fuck. I thought maybe it was nerves at first, but no — this was who he was in real life.
We sat for a few minutes talking about how he messed up the plans, and then… he opened his laptop. Sat right on my couch, in my living room, and got to work. I just stood there thinking: You drove all the way down here to meet me, for the first time, and your priority is work emails? Meanwhile, I’m in the kitchen making dinner like this is some kind of bizarre Airbnb setup where the host cooks and the guest catches up on spreadsheets.
When I suggested maybe going out, he looked up and said, “We can just stay in.” Oh, how convenient. He gets home-cooked food, Wi-Fi, a couch to lounge on, and I get the privilege of… what? Watching him work?
And here’s the part that really stung — all those hours on the phone where it felt like we had a connection? Gone. In person, he was stiff. Every conversation felt forced, like he was reciting from a handbook. At times he was just quiet, staring blankly, like his brain was buffering. It was so far from what I thought this would be that I started to feel embarrassed for even letting it happen.
Eventually, the night dragged into sleep. But not in a romantic way — not even close. He crashed on my couch. Not with me, not even trying — just flat-out took over my couch like he was settling in for winter hibernation. And then came the snoring. Loud, nonstop, freight-train snoring that lasted for twelve straight hours. I lay there all night, wide awake, staring at the ceiling, thinking: I don’t even want him here. I want him gone. Now.
By the time he finally woke up, I was over it. Beyond over it. I wasn’t even mad anymore — just done. That spark I thought we had, the chemistry I felt over the phone? Nonexistent in person. Instead of excitement, I felt drained. Instead of butterflies, I felt relief when he left.
That was 6’7 from Seattle. The weirdest, most disappointing first meeting of my life.
And here’s the bigger picture: this is dating in the Pacific Northwest. Miserable. Guys who flake on plans they set themselves, who show up late, who put in zero effort, and who act like just being tall and having a job is enough to carry them through. The bar is in hell, and yet somehow, men still find ways to limbo under it.
Dating here feels like an endless cycle of half-assed energy. Everyone’s “busy,” nobody wants to plan anything real, and the amount of “let’s just stay in” energy could power the grid. I don’t want to “just stay in” with someone I don’t even know — I want to actually go on dates, build experiences, see if there’s a real spark. But instead? I get HR-on-my-couch, using my Wi-Fi, eating my food, and treating me like a pit stop.
So yeah. Dating in the PNW is miserable. Exhausting. And sometimes it’s not even the dramatic disasters that hurt — it’s the weird, boring, awkward letdowns that make you question why you even bother.
But here I am, still bothering. Still trying. Because as awful as this was, I know there’s going to be another story — and maybe one day, it’ll finally be a good one. Until then, at least my readers get the entertainment.
THANK YOU FOR ALLOWING ME TO SHARE!
-EM from NW
The Relentless Motherhood 
I know you have something to say, shoot it to me straight…