I don’t know if any other singletons have noticed this, but when you’ve been single for a while all of your non single friends seem to want to set you up with some half acquaintance of theirs. It’s a nice thought, really, but it never seems to be an ideal match. In fact, they’re usually trying to pair you up with another sad, single person that can’t find themselves a date either. But it gets you out of the house, right?

So one of my darling friends decided to set me up with their window cleaner, who we shall call Mr Sparkles. This could well be his real company name, I genuinely don’t remember. But then my memory never has been the most reliable.

Our first date was surprisingly alright. We were both quite busy and having trouble finding an ideal time to meet, so we decided to go for a quick drink just to get the initial meet out of the way. He was nice. Quite good looking, fairly interesting, owned his own business. All good. I just didn’t feel like there was a “spark” (pun not intended). But then it’s unfair to judge someone after only one glass of rosé and less than an hours worth of small talk, right? So when he asked me for a second date, I felt like I owed it to myself, and to him, to give it a second chance. The offers weren’t exactly rolling in after all.

So a few days later I receive a text asking if I liked bowling, as that was a hobby of his, with a meal out thrown in to sweeten the deal. Once he’d confirmed he was fine with me having no idea what a bowling average even was, we agreed to go to a slightly nicer bowling alley a bit further away, as the local one didn’t seem to have been updated (or cleaned) since the mid 80’s. This meant having to fuel the conversation for an entire car journey, but that actually seemed to flow fairly naturally which was nice. It was all nice actually, just comfortable and easy. Until it came to ordering dinner anyway. Usually a fairly uneventful part of the date, but this is me we’re talking about.

Anyway, he ordered some kind of steak meal and I went for a salad with a glazed salmon fillet. This wasn’t in any way an attempt to be healthy, or to come across as the dainty girl that only eats salads, but purely because I’d spent the previous couple of days eating and drinking more than is usually advisable. So a nice light salad was just what I fancied on a warm, summery evening. The waitress seemed to approve of my order, so as I turned back to my date with a smile on my face I was surprised to be met with a look of absolute disgust. Which was then followed by a rousing chorus of “what’s wrong with girls?” Apparently it is so fake of us females to order salads at dinner, as it paints an unrealistic picture of ourselves. Which would be more understandable if I was attempting in any way to come across as a super model. I was told that I would have made a much better impression if I had just ordered a dirty great mixed grill and a pint of beer. Believe me, if I fancied that, I would have ordered that. And if I’d have realised I was going to be judged for my choice of food, I’d have stayed at home. As stunned as I was, I had to ask what prompted the outburst. To which he replied that “all girls pretend to be a certain way when you’re dating and then turn out to be someone else when you get to know them”. Wow. All I did was order a ruddy salad! Trust me, I do not look like the kind of girl that eats salads for every meal and I am in no way trying to trick anyone in to thinking otherwise. In fact, if you saw a photo of me in a quiz round it would be in answer to the question “who ate all the pies?”. Anyway, after being ranted at for what felt like hours, the meals turned up. And I would like to point out that my ‘dainty little salad’ – a heaped bowl of colourful, glistening deliciousness just dripping with sticky glaze – made his measly steak look like a kid’s meal. A small victory, but I took it. Nevertheless, I figured he’d just had a bad experience so I decided to push that whole catastrophic dialogue aside and try to salvage the conversation by changing the subject. And then completely killed it.

“I get it from the guys all the time, beam me up Scotty”

Are you Scottish then?

“No, I’m not Scottish.”

So why do your friends call you Scotty?

“Because that’s my name. Scott.”

But I’ve been calling you Andy this whole time.

“Yeah I know.”

Silence

Needless to say, the rest of the evening was pretty awkward. We skipped the bowling, thankfully, and proceeding to have the longest drive home imaginable. He did keep trying to explain his motivation for hating salad eaters, but I think by this point I was more interested in watching the headlights of the oncoming cars, mostly picturing them heading straight for me.

The moral of this story? Always take your own car on a date! Or check the bus timetables. And please, ladies (and gents of course), order the biggest, dirtiest meal on the menu. Heaven forbid you come across as healthy!!

He did ask me on a third date though….

L xo