Twice a year, journalist and unmarried father Jeroen Vermeeren, 48, takes risks with the dating app Tinder. Every time he has a new hope. But it’s always an ongoing challenge, if you ask him. “There is always a series of conditions that you are expected to meet, qualities that must unite in the same body of average salinity.”
Copywriter, spokesperson, journalist, ghost writer, poet and now also a columnist. Resumption Jeroen Vermeeren (48) A colorful collection of handicrafts. As a single father to Cass (13), he loves to blow up a paradoxical balloon about relationships and parenthood.
I set the standards in such a way as to present to me a bevy of ladies between the ages of 40 and 50 young springs. Twenty things fall by the wayside. It could be my daughter and besides, my midlife crisis is pretty much over. Thirties are themselves fun people but between us: I went there and did it. conclusion: no more. They often have a burning desire to have children and have long lost them on the way. I have a wonderful thirteen-year-old son, who also faces me the necessary challenges. that will do.
Those who do not wish to have children sometimes suggest exotic forms of relationships such as polygamy. I’m totally in favor in theory, but I don’t see it working for me in practice. Moreover, almost all of them have a thing for backpackers and exotic faraway destinations. Read: places where you can find deadly snakes and spiders, where you can get malaria or a brain-eating amoeba and where it’s too hot or too humid. I’m old fashioned. I love Provence and Tuscany is fine. I will climb Mount Everest in my next life. Get out of your thirties as well.
After 24 hours I feel anxious. I think, why am I here again? After 48 hours I feel ashamed. 72 hours later I walk screaming. Goodbye account.
Wanted: no vanilla
The idea of meat-checking is never far away, with that beating. After 24 hours I feel anxious. I think, why am I here again? After 48 hours I feel ashamed. 72 hours later I walk screaming. Goodbye account. North sun Here I come. Six months later, the cycle begins again. I’m a positive boy, and therefore I assume that “it won’t be so bad this time”. Quod is. I just faced the same crazy and unrealistic expectations again. Like “You don’t have a backpack” (Duh?!) or “Required: Vanilla freeThere are always a series of conditions that you are expected to meet, qualities which you must combine in the same aged, slightly salty body. So many qualities that I have already exhausted reading.
I feel homesick for the stadium. When I could still look madly in love and longing for lies.
You know, I feel homesick for the playground. When I could still stare madly in love and longing for lies, I exchanged messages with her across the communal sofa in the chemistry room (symbolic!). The lips did not come into play. Well, or much later, when we were already divorced and hoping to tame some demons together. It didn’t work out well, so we’ve maintained it as a friendship ever since. Because lies are and still are a supreme woman. (Big bitch, yeah. I don’t wake up.)
Above all, I feel homesick for the follies allowed. for patching. By the way, I only got better at it. But strangely enough, this was never a trait Tinderdames sought. Then a person excels at something.
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