There’s a certain glamour to modern dating in rural Ireland. It isn’t skyscrapers and designer stilettos, it’s the smaller Penneys and reduced River Island purses. I have dated zero suit-wearing millionaires, but many former chino-obsessives.
I live in a village with two regularly visited towns on my doorstep, both the homes of those who have gone weird and those who I’m sure are still yet to go weird. The love stories are far from Insta-vibed apartments and private jets, I still live at home and don’t have my full license yet. I don’t sip on cocktails with property tycoons, I get excited when the guy I like remembers that I love Strawberry and Lime Kopparberg. He isn’t jetting off anywhere in the morning for business, we’re both getting chicken fillet rolls in different garages as pride limits our Snapchats.
Being a twenty-something gal writing about love, and the lack of, whilst on her landing in her dressing gown, I want to highlight the magical element of this lack of glamour. Many parts of this lifestyle sparkle – it’s the ordinary, the every day, it’s reality for many of us. As cheesy as it may sound, and as weird as some of these men may go, some of my favourite memories are completely paired back to basics, unraveling in packed smoking areas, familiar cafes and at McDonald’s self-service machines.
Each man we fall for tells a story – of love, of lessons… of both. And whether the last time you saw him was in a bar, in the shop he works in at weekends, or in your local SuperValu carpark, chances are it all still sparkles without the city lights. If he puts a spring in your €19 high-heeled step, all the skyscrapers in the world won’t seem so high.
