28April2026 Diary
Why should I end up as a caretaker for an old man? Whats in it for me a flat? A car?
She said that straight, looking at me as if I werent a man in my prime but a pastdue item on a clearance rack. In that instant, after many years, I wondered whether the world had finally turned upside down at 43 I was already being labeled oldtimer, and she didnt bother to soften the price tag she slapped on a relationship. No hints, no flirting, no games.
Im 43. Ive never married. Ive had two cohabitations, each lasting about two years, decent and uncomplicated, ending amicably like two adults going their separate ways. I used to see that as a plus: no alimony, no exfiles, no baggage, no endless comparisons. But in todays dating market that seems to be a red flag, as if being single means something is broken, a hidden defect that hasnt passed inspection.
I made a decision: it was time. I wanted a family, a partner beautiful, wellkept, youthful. Yes, I wont lie; Id prefer someone under 28, someone who would make my friends mutter, Where did you find her? without a hint of shame. After all, I earn a decent salary, I own a flat in Manchester, I have a reliable car, I dont drink or smoke, I look after myself. To me, I was a respectable option on the market.
Turns out the market runs by different rules now, and I was not the buyer but the merchandise and not even the most soughtafter one.
**First date** Emma, 26, met through a dating app. We chatted for a week; she laughed at my jokes, wrote Youre so interesting, Its easy talking to you. I thought this might be a normal connection, no strings attached, just human contact. As soon as we met, the conversation shifted.
She studied me, unflinchingly, and within fifteen minutes asked:
What car do you drive?
I answered.
Do you own a flat?
I answered.
How much do you earn?
At that moment I realised it wasnt a date, it was an interview. I was the asset being assessed for liquidity, and she asked the questions as calmly as if she were ordering tea or coffee.
When I turned the table and asked, What are you looking for? she smiled and replied, Comfort. I want a man who can meet my needs. No embarrassment, no innuendo just a price list.
**Second date** Charlotte, 24, a pictureperfect, wellgroomed woman. We met at a restaurant in Brighton; I paid for the meal, as proper. The talk drifted to the future.
I want a family, children, a stable relationship, I said.
She looked at me and said, And what can you give?
I was taken aback.
What do you mean?
She said, You want a young woman, right? She has choices. Why should she choose you?
Then she continued, Because youre older, you need to compensate with resources a flat, a car, money, a certain lifestyle. Otherwise, whats the point?
I tried to argue that love, compatibility, respect matter too, but she simply shrugged, Those are secondary. The basics come first.
And then she echoed the words that had haunted me:
Why should I be a caretaker for an old man? she said evenly, without anger, as a matter of fact, adding, If you want a young woman, you need to match her expectations.
I left feeling as if Id been dismantled and appraised on a market shelf.
**Third encounter** Grace, 27, who had messaged me first, flirted, asked questions, seemed genuinely interested. One day she sent a voice note:
Listen, lets be honest. I need a man wholl support me. I dont want to work my fingers to the bone. If youre not ready, dont waste either of our time.
I asked, What do you offer in return?
She laughed, Me?
Thats when something clicked inside me. Me as a product, a service, an allinclusive package that must be paid for upfront. The absurd part is how openly they set the terms, and if you dont fit, youre simply written off, no drama, no regret, just an unsuitable option.
Ironically, I kept blaming women that theyd become spoiled, materialistic, only after money. The more dates I attended, the clearer it became that the fault lay elsewhere. I had walked onto this market expecting to choose, yet I was the one being chosen.
I wanted youth, beauty, convenience. They wanted a steady income, security, a good return on investment. I chased looks; they chased resources. In that logic everything is fair, just uncomfortable.
It hurts to realise youre not a unique marvel, but one of many items being compared, priced, and discarded. The real blow isnt the rejections; its the moment you see yourself not as a man, but as a proposal with clauses, deadlines, and conditions. Perhaps Im simply too late.
Maybe I should have built a family earlier, before everything turned into a transaction. Maybe 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.
**Lesson:** In a world that treats relationships like market listings, the only thing I can control is how I define my own worth, and whether Im willing to become a product or remain a person.
