Dating in 2025 When You’re Allergic to Everything but Red Flags

I want to fall in love this year. Or do I?

Being single for six years is long enough. (Well, if you discount the regrettable encounters from 2017–2019, then it’s been ten years since my last proper relationship.) Sometimes, I’m like, “Get a grip, woman! You’re not waiting to be canonised for services as a nun!”

It’s actually been a choice to be single. I’ve just grown so tired of the madness of online dating. I suppose you could call me high maintenance. I mean, I don’t appreciate being ghosted after a great chat and I also wasn’t thrilled about being blocked because I wouldn’t open the door to you at 3 am while you were drunk and shirtless. We’d only met once!

I also don’t enjoy:

Being told, “I usually go for girls thinner than you.”

· Being called unattractive because of the scars on my hand and arm (from a childhood condition).

· Or being controlled by a narcissist.

These are real-life experiences I’ve had! So yes, I guess I am “high maintenance.” Apparently.

But here’s the thing. Dating in 2025? It’s 95% single men with dogs and the other 5% with cats.

What’s happened to your face??!

Now listen, I adore animals. I melt over their droopy dog eyes and their dangling tongues while kangarooing through tall grass. I love those cats that snuggle under your chin and mew little conversations.

But my immune system? Not so adoring of the hairy species. It reads me my last rites the second I stroke anything with fur and my face erupts like I’ve dived into nettles.

Should I be overlooking all this just to find a man!?

My throat closes up around anything fluffy. Am I supposed to just keep repeating the mantra “Eyes on the prize… Eyes on the prize…” while I’m asphyxiating!? Well, I guess people do say, “I’d die for you…”

Dating a man in 2025 with pets would be like a modern-day Romeo and Juliet, but I’m Juliet in A&E, strapped to an oxygen mask on a Saturday night, just because Lottie the Labrador wanted snuggle time with us during Question Time!

The Online Dating smorgasbord

I once told a man I really liked, “I’m actually allergic to all fur.”
His reply?
“That’s OK. You’ll get over it.”

I didn’t realise that I was signing up for exposure therapy with him.

It’s not that I hate dogs or cats. I just don’t want to share a bed with one. And I’m sorry, but a lot of men do. Not all, but a lot. Again, label me as high maintenance, but I really don’t want to wake up with a wet nose in my mouth. Unless I requested it, of course….

And yet, every profile is the same:

· Dog dad!

· If you don’t like dogs, swipe left

· Me & Bailey = package deal!

But Bailey’s not the one on Tinder. I didn’t specify a man who smells like beef sticks and who needs constant praise for coming when I call his name!

Then there are the photos.
*Shirtless man…nice.
*Mountains…stunning.
*Big smile…oh wait, no, that’s your border collie photobombing mid-air, catching his ball.

And forgive me, my Liege, as I curtsey, if I dared to swipe right without acknowledging your dog! One guy messaged me with:
“Roger wants to say hi!”

Sorry, is Roger expecting his own WhatsApp chat with me now?

Sigh. “Hi Roger…”

…Roger is typing…

“You rolled in fox poo and Dad had to carry you to the car?”

Yep. Roger’s blocked.

I once admitted I preferred cats (from a distance, with a Zyrtec wedged in my dry throat) but added that all fur is bad for me. The guy squinted and said, totally deadpan:

“Cats are evil.”

Evil?! Sorry, you’ve shown up on this date, to a beautiful restaurant with starched tablecloths and a 15-course tasting menu, while you’re wearing a nylon non-fire-retardant football shirt and you think cats are evil?

Get me the bill and an Uber ASAP, waiter.

You did what in the pub toilet??

One of my friends has two beautiful little dogs. Every time we meet, we do cheek kisses. And as reliably as British summer rain, my cheek slowly starts to itch. Then I flush red. Then, within twenty minutes, my face looks like I’ve been using barbed wire as some kind of 2025 miracle lymph gland massager.

And scrubbing off the itchiness in a pub toilet with Costco’s neon pink soap? Not recommended.

Also, don’t get me started on the judgment I get for not being a ‘fur person.’ Seriously? You’d think I said I hate blinking.

So what does my dating future look like?

The non–dog-dad pool is… limited. A rare and possibly endangered species, as if narrated by David Attenborough.

Camera 3 zooms in on the last single man without a furry companion, quietly reading in the corner of a cosy pub, with no sticks or poo bags in sight.

Look, I’m not asking for miracles. Just someone who doesn’t share his bed with two Siamese and a scatter of squeaky mice. And someone who won’t give me flu symptoms and a face like The Singing Detective.

Sealed with a kiss

I really miss kissing someone at the end of a cold night. A proper, cheek-held, hands-in-my-hair kiss. Not one where your Alsatian watches from the car window while panting and thinking:
“Well, Dad never lets me lick him on the mouth that long…”

So if you’re single, kind, funny and your idea of a great date doesn’t involve throwing balls in a mud-fest forest…

Please start a queue. Or a trend. Or a charity for “Allergy Dating”.