The only thing worse than a bad date, is a bad second date, because that means two things:
a. I was foolish enough to go out with you, again
a. I was foolish enough to go out with you, again
b. You were not bright enough to redeem yourself
Now me I’m a believer in second chances, I screw up so often I’ll require one, or more, especially when it comes to men and dating. That’s why I try not to, date that is, not screw up. That said, I’m done giving men second chances. I know, last Friday I was all ‘what I love about men’, but that was last week, this week you’re all back to being stupid idiots, starting with this twit…
Date number one was an after work drink at what turned out to be the bugger’s office local, with 10 or so of his closest (drunk) friends. I can hear you groaning. Yes, it was as bad as it sounds. I’ll be honest, I wasn’t expecting the crowd, and once I clapped eyes on them I quickly realised he was probably just looking to funga my ass, he just didn’t have the balls to come right out and say it. My own interest then dropped significantly, not because of the funga aspect, it was more the lack of creativity that turned me off. Chief, do you really think trying to get a 30 something year old woman drunk is the best way to get her into your house/bed? What about me says ‘I’ll lose my inhibitions after a shot or two of…what’s that you’re drinking, rum…’? This was a case of poor planning, if the little shit had asked around, he would have been told that I am an extremely paranoid drunk and therefore unlikely to go home with a stranger in that state. Research my friends, its all about research. Anyhow, that date didn’t go very well, but in fairness to the man, it wasn’t a date, it was a drink, and a pathetic attempt at a set up.
So how did I end up on date number two? He wrote me an email. The idiot then went and did some research and found out I go weak in the knees for nothing more than bloody email. Some women like flowers, some chocolates, my weakness is words. I’d love a book, but if that’s asking too much I’ll settle for an email. A well written email, sans bad spelling, promising good conversation and humour, but no poetry please, I struggle with poetry, send me such an email and I’m your bitch, you can have your way with me…
Fast forward to date number two (it was a really good email), and it was a real sit down dinner. The tables even had those white sheets and everything. And that was the highlight of the evening. Apparently it is acceptable for a man to show up for your date half an hour late, no apologies offered, and proceed like it’s the most normal thing ever. And this in the age of mobile phones? Good God man! Were you raised by wolves?
The man then proceeded to embark on a soliloquy about his job, his car, his iphone, his ipad, and on and on, all in an attempt to impress me, at least that’s what I’m assuming he was trying to do, and all I had to do as the unfortunate object of his affections was ooh and aah appreciatively. Once he was done cataloguing his possessions, he then thought it wise to educate me on the finer nuances of politics, seeing as how he aspires to run for office soon. Now if there is one thing that pisses me off to no end, it’s politicians, I don’t like them, I stay away from them, and if somehow I end up trapped next to one, I pretend to be deaf and dumb, even blind if need be. Once he started going on about how MP’s are misunderstood, I started fingering my fork with intentions of lodging it securely into the side of his neck. While he was spewing crap about power and influence, I was busy hoovering down my food, this so I could leave soonest. By the time he was wrapping up his manifesto, I was putting down cash for my half of the bill. Suffice to say dessert was not had.
Thing is, I usually get a bit quiet around strangers so I don’t mind not doing the talking on a date, it keeps me from having foot-in-mouth situations (unfortunately that happens more than I care to recall). That said, I don’t think I said more than 10 words all through dinner, and what’s worse is, I don’t think he noticed. At one point he stopped talking and asked, ‘Am I talking too much?’ and then continued his monologue. Stop laughing, this is my pathetic love life. Just between you and me, I think I could have swapped places with a cardboard cut-out and he wouldn’t have noticed, at least not until he tried to cop a quick feel. Yes, the bugger tried to get a handle on my handles as he was walking me to my car (that’s why it always pays to park close to the entrance, shorter awkward walk no?), but when he tried to get abreast of the situation, I politely pushed him off and went home. And there ended date number two.
I’m so disturbed by this shit I can’t think up one of my silver-lining happy endings, I don’t even have a song for you today. There is nothing to be gained from this experience, nothing. Except maybe the need to carry a cardboard cut-out at all times.
He called me a couple of hours ago, wants to do drinks, I told him I’m working late all week. Please God don’t let him send me another email…
