Well once again I found myself succumbing to complete desperation and re-activating my PlentyOfFish profile. I am still scarred from my last date, literally, well it’s not everyday you attempt to jump from the balcony of G-A-Y to escape a man whose profile picture was obviously taken twenty years earlier and now bares more resemblance to Myra Hindley’s mug shot, from after her death.
This may appear even more desperate as I no longer live in the UK but in the very tolerant and welcoming of puffs state that is Dubai, well it has a torture chamber for gays and I’m quite sure that would be right up the street of 50% of the cliental in the Rembrandt. One has started eyeing up the camels and wishing that being taken up the Kalhifa meant something completely different altogether.
After trying to crawl beneath the dish dash of a few locals and not quite fitting due to my extra Christmas weight, from 2008, I thought I’d try and do what I couldn’t for four years and get a man back home in Manchesterford.
After choosing some very well angled pictures, the sort that makes Vanessa Feltz look like a zero and exaggerating about my completely sane personality, I decided to leave out the bit regarding climbing through an ex boyfriend’s window, I was ready to go and capture my next victim. A few burly bears and some men who made an ameba seem interesting later, I stumbled upon quite a handsome chap. Yes he was wearing Pat Butcher’s but I just thought to myself I could cut his ear lobes off as he sleeps, should things ever get that far.
Now me and said man, let’s call him Daniel, because that’s his name, have been chatting for about 6 weeks now and I can honestly say our relationship has blossomed, more like a Venus fly trap than a daffodil. It’s even had its ups and down, well I say ups, it was more half a smile before flat lining like a cardiac screen. However, not one to drawn things out, I much prefer to let things go before things get too bitter, we have decided to meet up when I’m home in Manchesterford next week.
As many of you will be aware the very thought of a date is enough to send me into a diabetic coma after eating a bag of sugar free sweets. With such advice from Lady Rodwell as ‘tell him there’s no time to be a lady, just drop your fucking knickers,’ I decided it was best to plan ahead to take the stress out of the evening so here is my dating schedule. . . .
October 24th . . . .
13.00 – head into town to get haircut
13.30 – get back waxed
14.00 – Veet the flaps
14.05 – put yoghurt on burnt flaps
14.15 – trim the undercarriage (remember to return next doors hedge trimmers)
14.30 – see above
14.45 – see above
15.00 – have a shower
15.05 – douche
15.07 – mop up shit bomb
16.00 – choose an outfit
16.20 – pour first glass of wine
16.22 – pour second glass of wine
16.23 – change outfit
16.30 – sit down and wonder why I got ready so early and how can I pass the next two hours
16.45 – pour third glass of wine
17.00 – panics slightly after not receiving a text for 3 hours
17.01 – send text to see what’s going on
17.02 – send second text to see why not replied to first text
17.03 – send third text to accuse of cheating after not replying to previous text
17.04 – pours first glass of Jack Daniels and coke
17.06 – change outfit
17.25 – sits nervously
17.16 – checks phone
17.16 and ten seconds – checks phone
17.16 and twenty seconds – turns phone off
17.16 and forty seconds – pours second JD
17.40 – change outfit
17.50 – receive a text to say ‘looking forward to tonight’
18.10 – plays Steps ‘Summer Of Love’
18.40 – change outfit
18.50 – receives text ‘sorry but can’t make it tonight, some over time’
18.51 – drinks from bottle of wine
18.52 – plays Celine on loop
18.53 – takes an overdose of tictacs and attempts to slit wrists with plastic knife
18.54 – brakes plastic knife
18.56 – downloads grindr and upload status ‘no time to be a lady, just drop your fucking knickers’