Love Is Blind | Issue 21

Love Is Blind | Issue 21

Critic’s infamous blind date column brings you weekly shutdowns, hilariously mismatched pairs, and the occasional hookup. Each week, we lure two singletons to Di Lusso, ply them with food and alcohol, then wait for their reports to arrive in our inbox. If this sounds like you, email critic@critic.co.nz. But be warned – if you dine on the free food and dash without sending us a writeup, a Critic writer will write one under your name. And that won’t end well for you.

Donny

Hey.

I got the email from Critic one day before the date, since the guy pulled out, which was out of the blue. After talking with the flat mates, I was convinced to go.

Date night.
To be honest, I thought I’d be calm, after reading Critic’s blind dates weekly – I thought I had it sussed – until the flat mates ripped into me. So heading there pretty nervous, I thought to go five minutes early since the date is usually 10 minutes late, which would give me time to ask the bar staff for some tips, but my date was already there. The deep end, as they say.

My date was attractive, smart and interesting. After getting the gist of what to do from the bar staff, I’d thought to get the ball rolling with conversation and avoid awkward silences. We ended up spinning yarns in various topics from history to politics and even travelling, which was fun. Overall I had a good time; without her being creative and interesting, I would’ve had a dull night. I didn’t get her number, since I got nervous at the end. Sorry, guys. I let the team down. Oh well, my loss and some else’s gain … But it was worth the experience. Now, up to the flat mates to step up!

Cheers to my date for being a good sport; your company was a pleasure. Thank you to Critic for organising a decent blind date, which I enjoyed. Also a big thanks to Di Lusso and the bar staff for your great service, I definitely enjoyed dining there.

Marie

It’s 7.26pm. Crumbs, I’m a touch early. He’s going to think I’m some perpetually early control freak. No matter, just ask the handsome bartender for the house wine and sip it thoughtfully by the fire while you wait. 7.28pm. Footsteps and a rumbling bass of a voice: “I’m here for the blind date,” it says to the bar wench. Damn you bar wench, why do you have to be so effortlessly beautiful – this was meant to be my night. I stand and face well-dress giant of a man with a dazed look in his eyes. He says something inaudible, presumably his name. He’s well dressed and he smells nice. The smelly kind of nice-smelling kind of man. 10 points to the Giant. We find a seat and start chatting. Our conversation as dry as the wine I was sipping. His mumbles included blasphemy such as gym, running, working out, gym. Things I passionately abhorred in my head, nonetheless I asked him questions with faux interest. We then talked of travel. Something I was far more akin to. And then we clicked. Stories of Mary Queen of Scots, Dracula, the Middle East and South America. Who would have guessed the Giant and I shared an avid appreciation of history. Our meals arrived. Mine the most decadent steak I had ever tried, and it took will power not to unleash the beast of hangrydom. The giant chose the pork belly and politely covered his mouth while he spoke and ate. An act that immediately made me think of my cousin. Oh shit, I was dating my cousin. The gym talk, the aspirations, the general Giganticy. He was a complete mirror image of my dear cousin, and I was not about to become the kissing kind of cousin. Still, we delved into deeper arguments about religion and addressed the real reasons as to why two strangers were sitting intimately face-to-face on a blind date. Curiosity proved to be the real motivation.

My girlfriends arrived and I left with an air of triumph. A wonderful meal, and a chat with a cousin I hadn’t seen in a while. Cheers for the memorable night, Critic!
This article first appeared in Issue 21, 2014.
Posted 5:55pm Sunday 31st August 2014 by Lovebirds.