Wednesday, 14 September 2011

Another Date, Another Dilemma

Scared into my memory is the mishap of burning my flaps with Veet the last time I went on a date. The amount of body grooming to feel good about myself before going on a date starts with 7 days preparation. With this in mind it was with great trepidation that I decided to put my down my Take A Break, even though I was in the middle of a fascinating article about a lady who breast feeds her chickens, turn off Jeremy Kyle and get back into the dating game.

First on my hit list was a lad I met at Manchester Pride, a little younger than I normally go for, plus he was wearing earrings, not the Pat Butcher type but the I’m going to twat you round the head with a baseball bat type and steel your wallet Elizabeth Duke style earring. Placing my prejudgment of said earrings aside, although I’m sure a few of you would have been turned on at such an image, we went on a date. This was followed by drinksnsnax round at my house the following Saturday. All had a lovely time, I say ALL as my friend Leona gatecrashed, she had heard about the earrings and was worried about a similar description on the previous evening’s episode of Crime Watch when the delicious Rav had described a crime where a pensioner had been battered to death by a rubber penis shaped douche.

Just when I thought the date was going swimmingly said boy fell asleep and refused to wake up before being dragged upstairs and thrown onto a mattress to sleep of his Southern Comfort induced coma. Myself and Leona carried on having a lovely time, at one point we used said boy as a coffee table balancing our Veuve on him as we polished off our Beyoncé routine. Unfortunately Leona can never seem to get the last twirl right, I put this down to her epilepsy.

Despite the coma I did have a lovely evening, unfortunately the boy didn’t think the same and we weren’t to see each other again. I can only assume he wasn’t impressed by my evenings choice of snax or he felt uncomfortable in my Laura Ashley decorated home as I can assure you I kept the conversation stimulating at all times. But then again I don’t suppose everyone feels as strongly about euthanasia as I do. It couldn’t possibly have been me whispering into his ear ‘there’s no time to be a lady, just drop your fucking knickers,’ for his lack of communication. Not a chat up line I prefer to use but the first one that came into my mind after being pep talked by my friend Germaine earlier that day. I should have known not to listen to her, after all she does have a criminal record for indecent exposure – she had to be dragged down from sitting on top of the Blackpool tower in the great storm of ’98.

Deciding not to dwell on the rejection from my search for a suitor I picked myself up and decided to organize a date that very same day to find my next victim via the help of Again I opted for a younger man, not what I normally go for but time was running out and I didn’t fancy a night in watching reruns of Cilla Black’s Surprise Surprise, I’m emotionally unstable at the best of times and that program has the tendency to force me into a diabetic coma after comfort eating my way through three tubs of double choc Ben & Jerrys – now that is a threesome I like to have several times a week, it’s cheap yet classy and doesn’t stain the sheets.

Discretion is my middle name so let’s call my date Chris, because that’s his name. Describing himself as a down to earth 21 year old who’s friendly and fun I thought I’d be in for a lovely evening as I sipped my Bacardi Breezer awaiting his arrival. 

Just then a figure walked through the door that had some resemblance to a picture I had been shown earlier that day, I now assumed the picture was taken from some distance and through a dirty lens.  As the figure went straight to the bar I turned and smiled, there was suddenly an awkward moment where I thought do I stay and see this through or do I fake a seizure and run for my life. Being a good Christian I decided to stay.

As I studied his receding hair line and thinking to myself if he’s 21 I’m Mother Teresa I was greeted by his words (as he put a Primark bag on the table, imagine the horror) 'I thought who's that fucking prick looking at, then I realized it was you, you look fuck all like your profile pic, your much better in the flesh, I've just been to Primark to buy a few ties, I'm going to a funeral tomorrow.' It was in that very moment I knew the seizure would have been the better option.

Downing my Bacardi I ran to the bar to grab a triple vodka in the hope of numbing my ears from his rambling of his reminiscing of how his uncle had been in a car crash and ended up a ‘retard.’ This was shortly followed by how he was ‘hated at work but don’t give a fuck as I’d take them all on.’ He did seem very impressed by his job as a call center agent for a well-known insurance company; no doubt it is a very good vocation for such an ameba.

As I returned from the toilet I made an excuse of how I had just been called to work and would have to leave in the next few minutes to go and work a flight to Greece, I told him I wouldn’t just leave him to finish his pint on his own – I’m ever the gentleman, even in adversity. The following was the longest 15 minutes of my life as he slowly dripped his full pint into his mouth, even with subtle hints such as gazing into space, looking at my watch and finally pulling out my car keys didn’t hurry him along one little bit.

Arriving home I felt ever so cheap, I felt the urge to shower with bleach and brillo pad, not before I had deleted my profile on the dating site and blocking any others from being assessable. Just as I sat down and recovered with a Gin and Tonic, without the tonic, my phone bleeped – “THANK YOU FOR A LOVELY EVENING, LET’S DO IT AGAIN SOMETIME”

I give up. 

1 comment:

Sophie said...

This is so funny...Brilliant.