Part 1: You're So Vain I Bet You Think This Blog is About You

It’s been a while since I last posted. Mainly because I thought I had found the one. You know, the man of my dreams, riding in on a white horse, or at least a decent car with a fully functioning aircon. Well, spoiler alert: Turns out, he wasn’t exactly Prince Charming. More like a covert narcissist with an impressive knack for controlling situations and people. Yep, I escaped from that wild ride, but buckle up, because it’s quite the story!

It all started in June when I matched with this guy on Bumble. He was 12 years older than me and an exec in the transport industry. Fancy, right? He seemed normal at first, okay, maybe a little extra with his grand plans to whisk me away to Saffire and flashing all these concert tickets he had pre-purchased for “that special someone.” At the time, I thought, "Aww, how sweet, maybe he’s just a bit insecure and feels like he needs to impress me." So, I quickly laid down my independent woman card, telling him I didn’t need his money I’ve got my own, thanks! I just wanted to get to know him for who he really was. (Oh, sweet summer child, I had no idea what I was in for.)

Fast forward to June 23rd, and we’ve scheduled a breakfast date at Peppina. I’m standing outside, casually waiting for him, when I see him turn the corner, and BAM! Our eyes lock, and it feels like someone punched me in the chest. (Romantically, of course.) Suddenly, I’m all shy and awkward like, what even is this? He strolls up, notices my nerves, and immediately asks, “What’s wrong? Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?” Uh, no? Weird flex, but okay. I brushed it off, thinking maybe he was feeling self-conscious about the age difference or something.

Over breakfast, he’s charming. Like, just the right amount of intensity to make me feel like I’m the only person in the room. He tells me how he'd like to be sitting on a couch with me deal and talk, then asks if I’d feel comfortable hanging out at his place. Now, normally, I’m all about taking things slow, but he seemed so genuine and I felt safe so I agreed.

Cue the cozy couch scene at his place. We’re chatting, snuggling, and then he kisses me. And oh boy, that kiss? Instant sparks, intense connection the whole fireworks-in-the-sky.

Little did I know, I was just stepping onto an emotional rollercoaster.

From there, the daily phone calls and texts began. I mean, a man as busy as him, with a high-powered exec job, calling me at 2 PM just to check in? I was flattered! I thought, “Wow, he’s really making time for me.” His communication was reliable and consistent—never over-the-top or suffocating. I started to feel safe, like maybe this guy really was the real deal.

Fast forward to our third date, and I was scheduled to fly to Queensland the next day to visit an old male friend. (Yes, male friend.) He stayed over the night before and then…..get this woke up at 5 AM to drive me to the airport! I was floored. I mean, what kind of guy does that? Who willingly drives a woman to the airport so she can go on holiday with another man? I thought, “Wow, this guy must be super secure and mature. Zero jealousy this is a green flag, right?”

So, I came back from Queensland, and things resumed as if they’d never skipped a beat. But here’s where things started to get a little… interesting. He’d been pretty persistent about us becoming exclusive, constantly asking if I’d deleted Bumble yet. I made it clear I wasn’t hitting delete until he did. I mean, fair is fair, right? But he seemed hesitant, insisting that he had “paused” his account so there was no need to delete it. (Cue the first red flag flapping ever so gently in the breeze.)

I stood my ground, though. "If you don’t delete it, neither will I. We’re in this together or not at all." So, after a bit of back and forth, we both deleted Bumble at the same time. How romantic, right? Nothing says commitment like synchronized app deletion.

But, just as things seemed to be solidifying, cracks began to show. He bought a ticket to a show I was performing in at the Peacock Theatre.

Backstage, I was chatting with a woman we’ll call Joanne. She was asking all the usual questions how’s the new guy? What does he do for work? I told her he was an exec in the transport industry. That’s when she casually said, “Oh, I think my friend June dated him once.”

At first, I thought, “No biggie. He’s a single man; he can date whoever he wants, right?” But, that off-hand comment from Joanne was the tip of the iceberg...

Two nights later, I was at home, feeling pretty good about things, when I got a message from Joanne. She’d been chatting with June the woman she’d mentioned backstage and apparently, June had only just ended things with Mr. Exec on Tuesday. Yes, Tuesday, as in three days after he and I had agreed to be exclusive! My heart dropped. The next thing I know, Joanne is sending me screenshots of her conversation with June, where June is making claims that Mr. Exec was a total womanizer, with multiple women on the go. I was devastated.

So, naturally, I called him immediately. He denied it, of course, with an Oscar-worthy performance. He explained that he’d met June three months ago, they had dated, but it had turned into more of a friendship. He said he felt sorry for her and just wanted to help her out. According to him, they’d caught up for a quick drink that Tuesday, and afterward, she messaged him saying, “Let’s just have sex.” He then claimed he’d shut her down, telling her he wasn’t interested in her like that anymore, and that was the end of it. He swore they had never been intimate, which she later confirmed, so I believed him.

The next day, he had to head to the north of the state for a board meeting, but the day after, he drove back to Hobart. Before his 4 PM meeting, he made a detour to see me, looking me in the eye and reassuring me that he and June were just friends. He said he had a hard time letting people down, but he had learned his lesson. I asked him point-blank, “Does anyone else think they’re dating you?” He swore, with all the sincerity he could muster, that no, no one else thought that. He promised me there was no one else, and like a fool, I fell for every single line.

Little did I know, I was just starting to unravel the web of half-truths and deception that this man had carefully spun.

The weeks that followed were a blur of last-minute plan changes, broken commitments, and always—always—a perfectly good excuse for everything. It was like he had a magic answer machine built into his brain, and somehow, each reason made sense. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.

The first night I spent at his place, I remember sitting on the edge of the bed before getting in. I glanced over and noticed a long, blonde hair on his pillow. You can imagine the little alarm bells going off in my head. But I convinced myself it was mine, even though I hadn’t even put my head on that pillow yet. My gut was screaming, "This belongs to another woman!" But my mind? Oh, my mind came in with, “Maybe it fell out earlier?” And just like that, I overrode my intuition. This would be the start of a long, exhausting battle with my gut, constantly trying to convince myself I was being anxious over nothing.

Then came the end of July. It was one of my best friend’s 40th birthday dinners, and he had promised he’d come along. But, surprise, surprise—at the last minute, he couldn’t make it because of a work dinner. Fair enough, I thought. We met up afterward, and he took me to his sister’s house to meet her and his brother-in-law. It felt like a big step—meeting some of his family—and I thought maybe I was just being paranoid all along. We spent the night drinking, and laughing, and I felt safe for a moment, thinking, “Okay, this must mean he’s serious about me, right?”

But later that night, after a few too many drinks, he suddenly started questioning whether I really liked him. It threw me. Here he was, this confident exec, suddenly insecure and needing reassurance. I chalked it up to the alcohol, brushing it off as drunk rambling.

The next morning, as we woke up, he asked me to officially be his girlfriend. It seemed sweet, except for the part where he almost told me he loved me—then stopped himself mid-sentence. I remember laughing and joking, “Whoa, it’s way too soon for that!” But deep down, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. Still, I kept pushing those thoughts down, convincing myself I was overthinking, just like I had with the hair on the pillow.

Later that morning, we went our separate ways—me to a wedding, and him to the footy with a mate. That evening, we spoke, and he made this weird comment about how a 25-year-old had approached him and said, "You're a DILF." I remember thinking, "Okay, that's an odd thing to bring up." I told him it was strange that a 25-year-old was wandering around the corporate box calling random men DILFs. I even joked that she was probably just after a sugar daddy. He got a little defensive and quickly changed the subject. At the time, I couldn’t help but wonder, why tell me that? Was it meant to be some kind of flex? To make me jealous? Or was he just trying to subtly let me know that he could get younger women? Either way, it didn’t sit right with me.

A few days later, we stayed at his place again, and something was off. He was in a strange mood, and then he offered me white wine from a half-empty bottle. Now, here’s the thing—he never drank white wine, only red. So I asked, “Why do you have this? You don’t drink white wine.” He quickly responded, “Oh, it’s Mum’s.” But my gut was screaming again. Sure, he’d seen his mum that week, but he’d gone to her house, not the other way around, so why would her wine be at his place? It didn’t make sense, and I could tell he was lying, but I brushed it off, convincing myself I was overreacting.

That night, he was distant, like I shouldn’t have even bothered coming over. After going to bed, I had this incredibly vivid dream that he was seeing other women. I woke up at 1 AM, completely rattled, and—still half-asleep—woke him up to ask if it was true. He reassured me, told me not to worry, and tried to calm me down. The next morning, he drove me to work, but he kept asking if I was still upset about the dream. He even called me at lunchtime to check that I wasn't upset. At the time, I thought, "Wow, how sweet! Here I am, being an anxious mess, and he’s so concerned, checking in to make sure I’m okay."

Looking back now, I realise it wasn’t sweetness at all. He wasn’t concerned about my feelings—he was worried I’d figured him out. He knew my intuition was catching on, even if I didn’t fully realize it yet. Funny how hindsight reveals all those little red flags I chose to ignore.

Mid-August rolled around, and he was set to have his teenage daughter stay with him for a whole month while her mother went to Europe. He seemed extremely overprotective of this almost 16-year-old. He claimed he couldn’t leave her home alone for more than a minute, and oddly, she never seemed to see her friends or boyfriend. It struck me as a little strange, but I figured, "Hey, not my circus, not my monkeys." Maybe that’s just how their family worked.

That month, though? I got to see him for a grand total of three hours a week—three! That’s all he could allegedly fit in between his “work” and “dad duty.” It sucked, but since his communication remained consistent, I tried to be understanding. He knew how much our time together meant to me, and we were planning our first full weekend together once his month of fatherly duties was up. He was going to take me to his second home on Bruny Island, a place he claimed he only took those closest to him. I was buzzing with excitement—it felt like a big step.

Then one day, completely out of the blue, he hit me with, “Let me take you to see your family in the UK for Christmas.” My jaw hit the floor. It was incredibly generous, but also, whoa, we’d only been dating for a month and a half! I was flattered, but overwhelmed, and I told him I couldn’t possibly accept such a huge offer. I gently suggested that maybe we could consider it for the following year if things were still going well.

Over the next week, though, he kept bringing it up, going into detail about how it could work, even calculating how I could take enough holidays to cover four whole weeks away. I started to waiver, thinking, “Wow, maybe he’s really serious about me.” I even went as far as checking in with my boss about taking the time off. But here’s the kicker—once I told him work would let me have the time off, he never mentioned it again. Just like that, poof! The Christmas trip talk vanished into thin air, and I was left feeling a little like I’d imagined the whole thing.

Looking back, it was classic love-bombing—grand gestures that were never meant to be followed through. And I was left standing there thinking, “Wait, what just happened?”

Spoiler alert: this wasn’t the last of the disappearing promises. Stay tuned for more!