The Dull Men’s Club popped up on my Facebook feed one day in late 2023. It’s now called Banana for Scale – a reference to a running joke in the group – as there were many clubs with similar names. It’s a place for people to celebrate the ordinary things in life. Every post had this dry sense of humour, which I’m drawn to.
One member regularly posts about his outings with his friend Nigel; others show off their collection of rocks.
I love that mindset. You don’t have to do something extraordinary. I like that there are people who are content being dull without judgment.
I live in the US and I remember seeing a post from someone in the UK who had shared a photograph of crumpets with the caption: “This is what an English crumpet looks like. They’re light and fluffy, and we toast them and smother them in butter. If you get a chance, you will enjoy them.” That was it.
A couple of weeks after I joined, I was added to a group chat with other people from the page. One of them was a guy called Luke. It was just a friendly conversation between people who share the same affinity for life – that the simple things are just as joyful as the big things. Luke spoke about how he irons his T-shirts, keeps a strict budget spreadsheet and has a routine to his evening meals. We bonded over the “dullness” of simplicity. I experienced a lot of chaos growing up, and he balanced out my nervous system.
That’s how Luke – who is British and was living in the UK – and I first started chatting. The algorithm pulled us together.
First we talked about work, then it was music and movies. The more we talked, the more we peeled back those layers and I saw his character. I was drawn to his heart.
We would spend five to six hours on video calls, but as he lives on the other side of the world, I didn’t think anything was going to happen. Then, after two months speaking on the phone every day, Luke asked: what if I got on a plane and flew over? I just thought, why not?
I have a friend who works for the US government so I asked her to do a background check on him. I didn’t want some serial killer coming to visit me. She said, “Not only does he have a completely clean record, he’s boring. He doesn’t even have a speeding ticket.”
That’s how I like it. I’d been married before and I’d had enough drama in my life.
We’d planned a trip together in Tennessee, a couple of hours’ drive from where I live. But the week before he was flying out, I had to go into hospital for an emergency operation. Instead of cancelling the trip, Luke came straight to the hospital. He got there at about 3am – I woke up and we had a quick, nervous hello. We were desperate to see each other.
He stayed with me in the hospital for five days, sleeping on a futon. I was amazed by how supportive he was. He never left my side.
When he left after that first trip, I remember thinking, I’m going to marry that man. I’d never met anybody who was so selfless. I realised he was somebody I could be safe with, and that’s important to me. When you hit 40, you’re old enough to know what you want. We were both really candid about how we felt about each other.
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He told me that, other than friends and family, he had no ties to England that he couldn’t unbind, whereas I have children and grandchildren in the States. When he visited for the third time three months later, we got engaged. That was about a year after we’d first met in the Dull Men’s Club.
We got married in September last year in a cabin in the Great Smoky Mountains on the Tennessee/North Carolina border, and, of course, we mentioned the Facebook algorithm in our vows. When we shared our story on the group, one member estimated how far apart we’d lived in bananas – they said it was 38 million.
Luke moved into my house with me and my children. We’re not high‑maintenance people. We don’t have to spend a lot of money to be content. We just exist together – no fuss, no stress, no anxiety. It’s not like we don’t have fun – we travel and go on road trips to concerts.
But it’s just nice being dull together.
As told to Naomi Larsson Piñeda
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