Some time ago now I was talking to this ‘woman’ from the army. Danni* was 39, supposedly quite high up in the ranks and seemed to spend her time bossing everyone else around. I’m going to have a guess that I met her on Tinder because it seems so long ago now that I can’t be too sure. Nevertheless, her profile seemed legit enough. The pictures upon further inspection could have been of two different people, yet were similar enough to not question at first glance.

So, we get talking, swap numbers and have general chit chat. She lived an hour or so away from me and on multiple occasions suggested she got a hotel for the night and we went for a few drinks. My best friend was adamant I was about to get kidnapped by a middle aged man and I don’t think she was far wrong. I imagined her spying from the corner with a false nose and moustache.

During our conversations she was very reluctant to send any photos, at all. And I mean, I asked for a photo of what her office looked like, not one of her arse. Still, no. Then one day she tells me she’s just gotten out the bath and has been painting her nails. Woah, she sends a photo. Initially, I think, those are some weird ass toes. Secondly, I spot a web address in the bottom corner.

I reply: Nice colour, shame about the URL.

How stupid can someone be?

Instantly ‘she’ (I’m still not even sure now) tells me she’s not allowed to send photos and that the army has to almost ‘tick off’ everything she does. Bit odd for someone with a dating profile I thought.

Weirdly, a good friend of hers of the same rank found me on Twitter. Bit odd. But still. He randomly favourites a tweet of mine that has no relevance to her or anything. Of course, my friend and I have a stalk. We find his Facebook and they’re friends. Yet Danni* has 8 friends and around 5 photos. He has shit loads. Hmm. Maybe she’s just a loner, or maybe she’s a total fraud…

How I pissed off a catfish.

There were a few things that seemed true I suppose, while many elements didn’t quite match up. In true stalker style… Danni tells me they’re doing some sort of army practice in Bournemouth one day. My best friend, conveniently in the area, swings by. No sign of anything army, let alone an out in the open training session. Odd…

Fast forward a week or so, her conversation is as dull as a soggy slice of toast and I screenshot her reply for my own amusement on Twitter – cropped of course, it could have been anyone. When her reply was 👍🏻 I think she deserved more than a piss take tweet. Nevertheless, who forgot that said catfish stalked her online too? In minutes, she messages me, apparently furious at me “breaking” her trust and putting a “private and personal conversation” on social media. Instead of apologising, I instead questioned how a thumbs up could be deemed a personal or particularly private conversation. This, my friends, is how I riled up a catfish.

However, until this day, I am still unsure. Was I talking to some fat bald bloke in an office somewhere? Scratching his arse and scoffing his lunch like some sort of wildebeest? Probably. Do I really care? No. Although I am curious. So if you’re reading this dear catfish, please explain yourself, I have another blog I’d like to write.


One thought on “The army catfish. 

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