My Date With The Catfishing Lovebomber

There’s a fine line between being charming and being completely unhinged. This man pole-vaulted over it, carrying a bouquet of compliments and a bald patch he hoped I wouldn’t notice.

I matched with this guy on Bumble, and we chatted a bit. He mentioned he used to dance too, which always gets my attention. And as it turned out, he used to attend a friend's dance classes. So well, I obviously called her for a creep-check. While she cleared him on the creep scale, she did mention she wasn't sure he'd be right for me. Not in a red flag way, just a different-types-of-people way. Fair enough, but I figured I'd explore one date anyway. After all, no harm in one date, right?

Hoo boy!

Let’s start with the catfishing.

Now, I know dating app photos are meant to be flattering. I, too, have a soft spot for good lighting and a well-angled selfie. But there’s a difference between picking your best photos and picking your former self.

In his profile, he had a head full of curly hair that would put a shampoo ad to shame. In real life? The curls had clearly fled the scene, leaving a not-so-small bald patch in their place. I’m not saying I wouldn’t have gone on the date had he been honest — I’m saying I’d have liked the choice.

Still, we were already at the cafe, and it was one of those charming Bandra spots with overpriced coffee and underfed plants. So I stayed.

He launched into conversation with an intensity that was... a lot. And not the sexy, sparks-flying kind of intensity — more the please-sir-this-is-a-cafe kind. He was working on a waste management solution, and I’ll give him credit: it actually sounded pretty cool. If nothing else, I hope the planet benefits from that date, because I sure didn’t.

While I sipped my Vietnamese iced coffee (delish!), he alternated between excessive compliments and dramatic self-deprecation. "You're way too pretty for me" and "People are probably wondering why you're sitting with me" came up more than once. I smiled politely, unsure if I was meant to reassure him or call a therapist.

Things escalated (don’t they always?) when I casually mentioned I used to live in Bandra. His eyes lit up. "You should move back," he said. "In fact, why not move in with me?"

Sir. We are on our first date. My coffee hasn’t even reached the halfway mark.

As we exited the cafe, I stood by the curb waiting for my rickshaw. He strategically stepped down onto a lower step to align his face with mine — a very obvious manoeuvre to plant a kiss. I, however, chose violence. By which I mean, I chose to keep talking about something wildly unrelated and never stopped long enough to give him the moment he was hoping for. That man did not need lip balm. He needed boundaries.

Over the next week, I was buried in Good Morning texts, emoji reactions to every single one of my stories, and paragraph-long DMs about how amazing I am. All this... after ONE date.

Eventually, I replied to one of his messages and said, as kindly as I could, that I didn’t feel the same way and that it was all just a bit too much.

His response?

He blocked me.

No conversation. No “thanks for being honest.” Not even a passive-aggressive “wish you well.”

Just straight-up vanished, like his curls.

So here’s to the Catfishing Lovebomber. May he one day find the therapy app he clearly needs — and may the rest of us continue to spot the red flags, even when they’re disguised as romantic gestures and compliments we didn’t ask for.