Vasquezz (Inke Petersen): Schneckentanz  (

Searching for Love


In a series of monthly stories, Hannah Huis will report on her dating adventures in the coming period. She is looking for Love, but needs a man for that. There are beautiful profiles of potential candidates on dating sites. With men who appeal to her most,Hannah makes one or more appointments. Every time she carefully selects the right clothing and sets off with great anticipation. Unfortunately, she often discovers at the first meeting that her heart doesn't beat any faster. There is no click, no spark, no romance. To her sadness, men with whom she has more appointments eventually drop out because she still doesn't get fired up. She wonders if this is due to the men in question, to her, the interaction between them. In her most gloomy moods she thinks that the right man is a needle in a haystack, so untraceable. Her friends' suggestion that she might have to adjust her ideas about Love doesn't cheer her up either. However, her sense of humor does not let her down and ensures that she continues her search for Love and for herself.


The fact that my date comes to pick me up in shorts immediately feels uncomfortable, although that clothing naturally fits our destination, a picnic on the beach, and this balmy summer evening. Those bare hairy men's legs have an intimacy, a homeliness that doesn't suit a first date. I changed a few times, and also stood in front of the mirror in high-cut jeans, which I once felt sexy in. When I got divorced for the second time, and in the depths of my depression over so many failed lives, sat in the bar with my soon-to-be-ex-husband's best friend, desperately trying to save our marriage, asking him for advice, this friend said:

“Show your legs”. He grinned.

I was confused. Could I get my ex back like this? No, he looked at me as a man. I could seduce new men with my legs. He looked to the future. I to the past. I wanted to crawl back in time. I always want that. When it's too late.

“Are you on Tinder?” my ex husband's friend asked.

I shook my head. Tinder, that was for loosers.

"I'll pay the bill". And I walked back in despair. The fragments of my life. My second marriage was over. It would be years before I decided to start internet dating.

For the complete text, see: Bare legs


I look slimmest and youngest in my blue and black wrap dress. If the light shines on it in a certain way, you can look through it. My legs are still to be seen. To add volume to the hair, with my head upside down, I rub powder at the hair roots. The line above the eyes shoots out. Make-up remover on it. Now my lens hurts. Lens out, back in. Now a red eye. Skewed line. Shave my legs. I open my skin at my ankle, it's bleeding profusely. Used a cheap razor blade from a hotel, stupid. Band Aid. Dress off. Black trousers with a low crotch and tapered at the ankles, white blouse through which you can see the lace bra slightly. I like my reflection. I need something summery with this: open shoes. Trim toenails. Cut into my skin, blood again. Jesus I'm an idiot. Another plaster. Just put on white socks and cool black shoes. Quickly on the bike towards the Zuidas, the business district of Amsterdam, it's already late. A Friday night speed dating. Not the alone on the couch on Friday night depression.


For the complete text, see: Dominant

3. Space

"Don’t give up hope," my friend says as we cycle home after a long and lost ladies' double match, and after many rounds of white wine with only one round of tortilla chips with melted cheese, sour cream, and guacamole as our dinner. I am the only one still smoking, ashamed, half turned away from the others so that no one would be bothered by my smoke. I should have eaten more and drunk less. "Have you seen Rotterdam67 on the dating site? Too old for me, but maybe interesting for you; he has at least done a PhD and writes." At home, I check right away. He is already 67, and not particularly attractive: glasses, gray hair, a somewhat pudgy face, double chin, but slim and tall. However, what he writes about himself resonates. It feels like it's me. Due to the alcohol, I don't let a night pass and write uninhibitedly: ...


For the complete text, see: Space