It’s better to laugh than cry!

It’s better to laugh than cry!

by LPW ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

I have always been a clumsy person, literally tripping over air on a regular basis and falling down so often that no one even asks if I’m okay anymore. So it seems fairly fitting that this clumsiness carries into other aspects of my life, such as my lovelife (or lack thereof). I am forever telling my friends about the ridiculous situations I get myself in to, mostly through dating, and these tales are usually met with a number of responses; laughter, shock, rounds of “you’re kidding”, laughter, sympathy, disbelief and then some more laughter.

Don’t get me wrong, I haven’t been completely unlucky in love. Although I have yet to find my “Mr Right”, I have been fortunate enough to meet some lovely warm up acts. However, lovely isn’t funny. Or shocking. But crazy, gross and downright weird? Now that’s funny. And I’ve got plenty of those to share!

I’ve been told a few times by my friends that I should write these stories down, so here I am sharing them with you all. There will be some fabrication, some elaboration, a lot of truth and hopefully even some entertainment in this blog, so I hope you enjoy it! And being a hopeless romantic, my quest for the love of my life is not over yet, which means there will probably be a lot more to tell in the future.

L xo

Cracky Gav

Cracky Gav

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Let me tell you about my first blind date. In fact, it was my first date of any kind.

So, picture this; I’m 17, still fairly sweet and innocent, and completely naïve to the joys (and horrors) of the dating world, with a slightly Disney-tinted view of romance. I have just started coming in to my own and generating a little attention from the boys – yet I’m the last single one in my friendship group. So of course, my lovely friend Lola – whom I also worked with – decided to give me a hand with this by asking Olly the barman to set me up with a friend. A nice older guy with a good job and a nice car apparently. I won’t dwell on the process of us meeting – we got each other’s numbers, exchanged a photo (he seemed cute), had a bit of a chat and arranged a date. I got a pep talk, some outfit ideas and swore to check in with Lola and relay every single detail of the date. Obviously. And that was that, I was off on a date with Gavin!

So, date night. I’m sitting at the bus stop outside the bar we’d agreed to meet at feeling pretty nervous, but excited, about meeting what could potentially be the man of my dreams, about to whisk me away to my happily ever after. You have to think positively, right? Anyway, as I’m sitting there waiting oh so patiently for the date that is now 20 minutes late, I look up and see this funny looking little man walking up to me. About 5 foot 5 and sporting a bright yellow puffer jacket, bleached blonde hair in hedgehog spikes, two sparkling diamond-esque studs and a thick gold chain that would make Delboy drool. And, shock horror, this 90’s boy band reject walked straight over to me and said, “Hi, I’m Gav.” Ah crap.

Look, appearances aren’t everything okay. I mean, I’m hardly fashion forward myself and personalities are way more important than looks. And he kind of looked like his photo…just a bit different than the classy, older gentleman I was expecting. But that was an image I’d created in my own mind and he seemed nice enough, so I was open to seeing how it went. Now, one of the benefits of dating a 21-year-old when you’re 17 is that they can buy the drinks, right? Well that’s usually the case, unless the 21-year-old in question actually looks about 12. And doesn’t carry ID. So off we went on a tour of all the places in town that wouldn’t serve him. Turns out, there were about 9 of them. And did I mention it was March and I was wearing a dress? Fun times! Eventually we came across a delightful pub with crusty carpets and an aroma which can only be described as a body odour/urinal blend. So, I was actually grateful to take my long-awaited drink out in the cold beer garden so that my date could smoke.

Meanwhile, back at the restaurant…

Lola: I might check in with L and see how it’s going

Olly: Oh yeah, it’s her date with Cracky Gav tonight!

Lola: Cracky Gav? Why do you call him that?

Olly: Because he loves drugs

Lola: What? What drugs?

Olly: All the drugs! He’s always on them.

Lola: No! L hates drugs!

Olly: Oh…probably not the best person to set her up with then…

Lola: You think?! Well that’s going to be an interesting date!

Oh, interesting was one word for it! So, we had finally found somewhere that we could sit and have a drink, and the getting to know you part of the date could commence.

So why do you not carry ID with you when you look so young?

Oh because I don’t have a passport and I had my driving license taken away, so I don’t have any ID.

You had your license taken away? How exactly?

Oh got caught drink driving. Well, drink and drugs really.

Pardon?

Yeah think I’d had some Charlie at some point too but don’t really remember. Anyway, rolled my car over and wrote it off then they took my license off me. Bit shit really.

I see…I might just pop to the loo quickly. And never come back.

Obviously I was really just going to text Lola.

What have you set me up with? He’s a bloody druggy! A car rolling Aaron Carter wannabe druggy! No one would even serve him, so we’ve ended up in that rat pub…whatever it’s called. The dodgy one opposite the church. When is it polite to leave? Argh!!!

I hid out for as long as my nostrils allowed, and then I headed back out, telling myself to give him a chance. After all, that might have just been when he was young and stupid, right? We talked for a while longer about life, work, there were even a few more stories about getting drunk and he how he was supplementing his income by selling home grown weed on the side. Turns out his age was irrelevant; he was just stupid. And then, as though sent directly from heaven, I saw Lola and her boyfriend walk into the beer garden. I could have cried. Turns out she felt so bad about her part in this pantomime that she convinced her boyfriend to come along and give me some support, and thankfully the rest of the evening went along fairly smoothly. Turns out that Gav wasn’t such a bad guy, just made some terrible life choices. Not that I wanted to be around for any future idiocy.

As we walked back towards the train station, we said our goodbyes and like the coward I am, I lied to his face and told him I’d had a lovely night and would definitely see him again. A text seemed like a much easier way to tell him the truth anyway. But as I went to hug him goodbye and he leaned in for a kiss, I’m pretty sure my Matrix worthy bend away from him let him know how I really felt as I never heard from him again. Not the best way to start my dating life, but I figured things could only get better from there at least.

Oh, you poor naïve little girl…

L xo

Mr Sparkles

Mr Sparkles

by LPW ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

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

The Dote

The Dote

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You know when you have one of those afternoons that turns in to a random night out? The “lets have a quiet couple in the sun” moments that suddenly turn in to “You’re closing? How is it 3am already?!” kind of nights?

My friend and I had been at a BBQ that afternoon and decided that even though we had been drinking all day, we definitely needed to continue. So naturally we headed in to town for a few more drinks. I’ll be honest, some of the details are pretty blurry, but I’m pretty sure a few drinks turned in to many drinks, as before we knew it the lights were up and we were being ushered out of a club.

Now, bearing in mind I’d just spent the afternoon surrounded by couples or listening to stories of dates and crushes, I was feeling in need of a little male attention. And although I’m pretty sure the guy that approaches you just as the club is closing is probably not the best guy to be leaving with, my lonely drunken state led me to believe otherwise.

So here I am, on the curb outside, talking to this adorable Irish guy trying to convince him that I’m a good girl and that we should just exchange numbers and meet up another time rather than jumping in a taxi together. Or maybe I was trying to convince myself? Anyway, it turns out he was just visiting a friend for the weekend and would be flying home the following night, so this was a one time only offer. I don’t think I needed much convincing after the amount of cider and rum I’d consumed, but he was trying his best nonetheless. And did I mention he kept calling me a dote? “You’re such a wee dote”. I had no idea what it meant but it turned me all shades of pink anyway. And those baby blue eyes…how could I resist?!

Just to add, I now know that ‘a dote’ is someone that’s cute. Well shucks! It could also be possible that he was calling me a dolt…but I’m going to believe the former and move on.

So there I was, in the back of a taxi with 5 Irish guys on the way to…well, I had no idea where I was going. Then the taxi pulled over unexpectedly and out jumped the guy that actually owned the house we were supposed to be going to. I think he was going to meet a girl or something but to be honest I wasn’t really paying attention. By the way, I get that this is the point where I also should’ve jumped out, but no, I stayed in the taxi with 4 men I didn’t know heading who knows where in a state where I probably needed some kind of adult supervision. Just one of the many genius moments I’ve had in my time…

Once we got to the house, I had to put up with a bit of jeering and banter from the other guys before I was lead upstairs to the spare room, which the others had kindly let Mr Blue Eyes have to himself due to the circumstances. Such gents. Now how I got up those stairs is still a mystery to me – steps are a challenge for me at the best of times – but as I seemed to remain bruise free I’m going to presume I managed it with some form of grace and dignity. Anyway, there we are in the bedroom, getting to know each other a bit better. And what do you really want when you’re “getting to know” a man? His mates knocking on the door and popping their heads in to cheer you on. Love it. What makes it even better is when said man, or boy really, is then putting up a struggle against using a condom. Why the hell wouldn’t someone want to cover their limb before they swim? Especially in unknown waters?! It’s worrying that it took so long to set them off, but finally the warning bells were ringing, and I suddenly felt surprisingly sober. So, being a lady and all that, I thought I should subtly take my leave without offending him. Or provoking some kind of negative reaction of course. And how did I manage that, you ask? Well, by saying I was popping to the loo whilst grabbing all my stuff and making a run for the front door. How else?!

Why are you putting your clothes on to go the toilet?

So your friends don’t see me in my underwear.

And you need your handbag for that?

Girls always take their handbags everywhere.

And your shoes…?

Well I don’t know what state the bathroom floor is in….

And then he was snoring.

Which was followed swiftly by the sound of me running down the stairs (again, without incident) and the front door shutting behind me. Phew!

But as I sighed in relief, it suddenly dawned on me that it was 5 o’clock in the morning and I had no idea where I was. Shit. As I’m wandering along wondering what the hell I’m going to do, I just happen to bump in to the guy that jumped out of the taxi earlier. Busted! He just laughed at me and asked me if I was alright and knew where I was.

Yeah it’s cool, I’m good thanks.

Maybe I should have mentioned the emerging feelings of impending doom. Or the colossal freak out that I was about to have if I didn’t figure out where on earth I was. But I’m far too polite for that.

Luckily, as I got to the end of the road, I started to recognise where I was, and even luckier for me it was only a short walk from my house. And now I had relaxed a bit, I was able to enjoy my wee dander home whilst the birds were singing and the sun was rising, with only one thought to ponder as I walked;

Damnit….what was his name?!

L xo

BFG

BFG

by LPW ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

You know how everyone has a hidden talent? Having perfect pitch, an amazing memory, being able to fall asleep anywhere they land? Well, my secret talent comes in very handy when it comes to dating, and it almost never let’s me down. Almost…

I met BFG on a free dating app. Why BFG you ask? Well, he was 6ft 8 and had size 15 feet. Compared to little 5ft 2 me, that’s bloody massive. Now, if you’re anything like me then your mind is probably heading in a certain direction, but hold that thought for a little while longer.

Apart from looking like some sort of circus act, my first date with BFG was pretty standard. We lived a fair distance from each other but he kindly offered to come to my neck of the woods and save me a journey. We had a nice dinner, pleasant conversation, a few easy laughs; we got on just fine. No real attraction there, but he was a likeable enough guy and he didn’t seem to have any issues with me, which is always a bonus. He was a gentleman too; he paid for dinner with a cheeky suggestion that I could pay “next time” and even offered to walk me back to my car. Of course, I wasn’t really planning on a next time, but that didn’t seem like the time to mention it. I’ve never quite managed to navigate my way between being nice and leading someone on…but now isn’t the time to delve in to that little quandary!

So the date ended affably and we went our separate ways. I had planned to text him the following day with a delightful but clear message making sure that there were no misunderstandings about a second date, but he got in there first:

Hey! So I went to get my car last night but it was locked in the car park, so I had to get a £70 taxi back home and then get the train this morning and pay another £50 to release my car. So it was an expensive date after all!

Oh no. I have to go out with him a second time now don’t I? I mean, I at least have to buy him a meal and even things out a bit. That’s the right thing to do, isn’t it?

You should come over my way this time and I can show you that Caribbean place I told you about

It is only fair that I put the mileage in this time.

Maybe I’ll even give you a tour of my new house 😉

Ah man, we all know what that means.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. If you’re not interested, just turn him down. It’s not your fault he doesn’t understand how car parks work, you don’t owe him anything. You’re right of course, why should I go out with a guy just because of some misplaced desire to even the score a bit?

So the following weekend I set off for his house. Yes, I know, but low self-esteem mixed with an annoying compulsion to feel sorry for people means I have a tendency to make some very questionable decisions. Some very amusing, very questionable decisions. Besides, I had a curiosity I needed satisfied and this seemed an ideal opportunity to kill two birds with one stone.

Anyway, shockingly enough this amazing restaurant we were supposed to be visiting was currently shut to diners and only serving takeaway. Quelle surprise. So of course we ordered in to his house. I’ll give him this; the Caribbean food was bloody amazing. He’d gone to a fair bit of effort for my visit as well, buying in a rum I’d mentioned the previous week and stocking up on ginger ale to go with it. So I had to have a few glasses, right? And if I was going to have to stay over, then I might as well sign up for the full experience, oui?

Look, I’m not proud of what happened next. The fact I had to neck half a bottle of Kraken to go through with it should tell you that I was hardly quivering with excitement. But, this man was a giant. And he had size 15 feet. Size 15. And that secret talent I mentioned earlier? Well, I hardly needed to rely on my sixth sense for penis size – my dick sense, if you will – to call this one. This guy was giving me nothing but third leg vibes. And it’s probably worth mentioning here that this second date wasn’t purely about feeling bad for him. Or about hunting anaconda. As you’ll quickly realise by reading this blog, I really don’t come across many decent guys, and very rarely are they actually interested in me. So when a nice one comes along, it seems a waste to give up after just one date because there isn’t an immediate spark. I know I’m not an obvious choice for most guys and I’m not easy to get to know, so it’s only fair that I give the guys I date enough of a chance to see if there is anything there. And did I mention the size 15 feet? How could I pass up the opportunity to test my abilities for real? Is the old adage about shoe size really true? Does the jolly green giant really have a bounty harvest in his lunch box?

The answer is no. No he does not. No snozcumber for this BFG. Barely even a baby gherkin.

…

In fairness, it wasn’t all that bad. I mean, it was at least easy to handle and was all over quite quickly. He seemed to enjoy himself anyway – we both got the best kind of jerk we could’ve asked for that evening, it’s just that mine was a lot spicier.

So after a short, sobering sleep I did the sensible, adult thing and slipped out at the break of dawn before he could realise what had happened. I sent him a nice text a couple of hours later to let him down gently (I’m not a monster) and to be honest he seemed to have got all he wanted out of the situation anyway. So you know, silver linings and all that. I just really thought I was going to be walking out of there sideways. Shame.

Don’t worry, my dick sense has served me very well since then, so I can only assume the unusual proportions of everything else just threw me off kilter temporarily. Besides, that’s not the most awkward situation my talent has put me in…

L xo

Ale Guy

Ale Guy

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‘Hi. Was great meeting you the other night. Fancy going for a drink soon? A.’

Of all the texts to receive after a night out, this is definitely one of the worst. Don’t get me wrong, it seems friendly enough. But the fact I’ve clearly had a conversation with someone, if not more, but don’t remember it? I dread to think what else I’d blocked from my memory.

Luckily, friends seem to remember all the details you try to forget…

Guys, I’ve just had a text from someone called A about the other night?

Yeah, that’s Alex! You were talking to him for like an hour.

Really? I don’t remember him.

Seriously? You kept jumping on his back and telling him to take you around the club introducing him to everyone as your new best friend

Oh…

What can I say? I shouldn’t mix my drinks!

Anyway, I text him back (not mentioning the fact that I couldn’t remember him) and we had quite a regular back and forth for a few days. He asked me if I wanted to meet him for a drink and I thought, meh, why not! Typically, the best times for me seemed to be the worst times for him, and vice versa, so we ended up having to settle for a quick drink one evening between other commitments. But considering I didn’t even remember meeting him in the first place, I figured short and sweet might work in my favour.

So, I was running fashionably late, naturally, and by the time I had got there he had already sat himself at a table and bought us both a drink. A lovely gesture of course, but the drink he had ordered for me was a pint of ale. Really not my drink. But I appreciated the gesture and was more than happy to buy a replacement. And it just meant he got an extra drink out of it. Win win, right? Wrong. Well, in his eyes anyway. He seemed pretty put out about it and kept pushing me to try this ale, to the extent that I didn’t even want to see it, let alone drink it. Even after I had got myself something different, he couldn’t seem to let it be;

I really think you should drink it, it’s so nice

I honestly am quite happy with my lemonade, but thanks anyway

Oh go on, you should really give it a try. You might be surprised

Sorry, I’m actually not drinking today, but I appreciate the thought

Just have a sip at least. Seriously, it’s so good, you’ll definitely like it

Le sigh.

I could’ve just tried it, but why be so insistent? Plus, I’d said no often enough by this point that there was no way I was backing down now. But I also wasn’t quite ready to walk out on the date. There could have still be a lot of potential in this guy! Plus, I had to find something to do whilst I sipped what felt like a gallon of lemonade – I hate to drink in silence. I also hate to drink lemonade when I really want a massive bucket of wine, but my spidey-senses told me I should keep my wits about me with this one.

I want to say the conversation was interesting, but I honestly don’t remember. What I do remember is that every minute or so he would repeat his request that I take a sip of this beer he had so generously bought for me without even asking if I wanted it, because it really is good you know. What was it about this drink that was so amazing? Maybe it was some kind of heavenly nectar that filled you with euphoria and a deeper understanding of life and our purpose on this planet. Well sod trying it for myself, that’s for sure. Apart from being incredibly weird how obsessed he was with me drinking it, it definitely felt like I was winning the game of tenacity, saying yes would’ve felt like I had just given in to defeat. That wasn’t going to happen.

And then, boys and girls, then he did something that really set the alarm bells ringing. As he finished his pint, he didn’t just reach for the spare identical pint that was sitting in front of him. The delicious, amazing ale that he had been harping on about this whole time. Oh no. He got up to buy a new one.

Why?!

Why don’t you just drink the one you got for me?

Oh it’s been sitting there too long really, I need a fresh one

 You were happy for me to drink it though?

Oh yeah well I don’t really fancy another one, might get something different. It’s not that great.

Pardon et moi? Not that great you say? Well what the bloody hell have you been trying to convince me of this whole time then? That did not sit well with me! As he walked off to get his drink, I sat there thinking about how odd the whole situation was. He must have put something in that drink. It seemed the only logical explanation for his behaviour. Well, that or he didn’t really like it at all and was just trying to palm it off on me to save wasting money or having to chug down another disgusting pint. But the latter was far less dramatic so I sent that invasive thought away immediately. Anyway, drink-spiker or douche, I wasn’t sticking around for him to return. He wasn’t even that great a date anyway – he had a soul patch for crying out loud.

As I was sneaking out, I managed to catch the attention of one of the barmen. Who, completely to my surprise, just happened to be the brother of an old school friend. Just a funny little coincidence that has absolutely nothing to do with the rest of my story. Small world though hey? Anyway, when asked why I looked like I was sneaking away, I let him know briefly what had happened. He eyed Alex suspiciously (“Is he the knob with the chin fuzz?”) then simply looked at me and said, “Leave it with me.” So I did.

I’d love to say that the mystery was solved and justice was served, but to be honest I never heard anything else from the barman or the creepy ale enthusiast since. So to try and divert from the disappointing anti-climax, let’s think of the lesson here – always be vigilant with your drinks! You may be having a naff one foisted upon you by a cheapskate!

The ironic thing is that if it was rum I’d have probably just drunk it without a second thought…

L xo

The Leprechaun

The Leprechaun

by LPW ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

I’ll set the scene. I’d been single for a while and decided to join a free online dating site. Originally I joined just to spy on my friend, but then I thought, well, it’s free, I’m single, what’s the harm in seeing what comes of it? Hahaha…

The Leprechaun was my 3rd date from this site. He was a little younger than me but seemed really sweet, had a good sense of humour and even had a degree in English which was a bonus as it was something we had in common. We had been talking through messages for a few weeks and finally agreed to meet on Boxing Day in a pub not far from my house. I deliberately got there about 10 minutes late, as every lifestyle column advises, and I saw him sitting at a table just inside the door. Well, I saw someone looking vaguely like the profile picture of the person I was expecting to see, and the fact that he was smiling and waving at me gave me an indication that he was the person I was supposed to be meeting. Now I don’t mean to come across as shallow and judgemental, but this guy had been seriously selective about the photos he had chosen. Don’t get me wrong, I understand wanting to choose the better pictures to make a better impression, but he didn’t even look like the person I had seen on the screen! It also didn’t help that he was dressed head to toe in green. Honestly. Green plimsoles, green skinny jeans, green jacket and oh wait, yes, that is also a green t-shirt he’s got on underneath. Brilliant. But I’m thinking “Come on L, give him a chance. He might just be trying to be funny.” Ha!

After getting a drink to numb myself from the colour assault on my eyes, we started to chat. The first thing he says to me?

“I don’t have to be at work until 10am tomorrow morning, so I don’t have to head home until like 8am.”

Right…I really wasn’t planning to be out that late…

“Well if you ask me in for a night cap (wink) when I give you a lift home later (wink) then I can stay until 8ish.”

…

I’ve never been so eager to walk home alone!  Despite that hideous misjudgement, I decided to stick it out and see if it improved at all. He might just have been nervous. And I had just bought a drink.

Oh, and did I mention he smelt like cheese? Yep. I mean, I don’t know for sure which part of him was creating the smell, but I can certainly guess. Which is enough. My stomach still turns thinking about it.

Now, one of the things with meeting someone on a dating site is that all of the small talk is out of the way before you actually meet each other, which is a problem when the person you’re meeting has absolutely nothing interesting to talk about. He told me all about his degree in English, and how he is making good use of it by working in his local corner shop. How his dream is to become the manager of said corner shop. That’s it. I do love a man with ambition! Oh that is unless he manages to become a successful sitcom writer, of course. The script he has been working on is especially funny, mostly because all the couples in it have names that rhyme, like Phil and Jill, or Dan and Fran. Hilarious. And he assures me he is funny, because he did a lot of stand-up whilst he was at Uni. Why did he believe he was so funny you may ask? Oh, don’t worry, he told me exactly why. It’s because he kept a notebook in his pocket, and every time a joke went flat he would take it out and say “note to self: not funny.” I know, I could barely contain myself either.

Can I just add here that I have nothing against working in a shop, but what is the point in getting a degree when you’re not even going to try and make use of it? None at all.

Anyway, once we’d finished our drinks and I’d managed to infer that the date was over, I was eager to leave. Alone. I still had to convince him that he wasn’t invited, one hour of his company was too much already, and after an awkward ‘avoiding the kiss’ goodbye, I was finally free. I got a text as I was walking home asking for another date, to which I simply said “No thank you.” It’s always nice to be polite, right? He then proceeded to bombard me with messages about how we would be good together and that he was about to ask me to be his girlfriend. His girlfriend?! After one painful and awkward date? I suddenly felt like I was talking to a 12 year old!

Safe to say I wasn’t upset that it didn’t work out. If anything I’m just disappointed that I didn’t find the pot of gold…

L xo