Critic’s infamous blind-date column brings you weekly shutdowns, hilariously mis-matched pairs, and the occasional hookup. Each week, we lure two singletons to Dog With Two Tails, ply them with food and alcohol, then wait for their reports to arrive in our inbox. If this svounds 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.
HIS:
I think I am still drunk, and by think, I mean I am. I was so nervous to meet the the lass I was shaking more than michael j fox during a minute of silence. After a self diagnosis of soberness I decided to self medicate and inhaled a cheeky few diesels to loosen up with the breathers beforehand.
She rocked up ten minutes late and was not a bad nudge. She sat down and abruptly informed me that she’d drinking since three in the afternoon. Shit, she came in throwing some heat. We started yarning and she insisted I was too sober for her (I wasn’t) but after she kept insisting I decided to backspace a few hundred Rum n’ Cokes. I can only imagine she would later realise her mistake in attacking my sobriety. We decided to head to Mac’s and this is where I fade to black…
Where am I? What the fuck happened last night? I looked to my side and noticed a woman who was not my date… Who is this wench beside me? I turn my head to the side and tried to examine my haul, I must find out who she is… Holy shit, She was more out of my league than Stephen Hawking in a triathlon and when I tried to speak I sounded like Sean Penn in ‘I am sam’. I could barely see, dazed and confused I still had more diesel in my system than a Guantanamo Bay guest. I prodded her, and she woke up informing me she found me in Suburbia jumping around more than Charlie Sheen at a rave.
She decided to seduce me and took me home to mine to play ‘Mitchell Pierce’s dog’. I was the dog. Naturally I gave my new bae a ride home, because as you will all have come to reaslise, I am a gentleman.
Sorry to my date, i bet she regrets it. Big ups to Dog with Two Tails, awesome time.
HERS:
Being the butt of all the flat jokes meant that come 6pm Thursday night I was told to go change, scull one too many drinks and go meet my potential future husband.
Rocking up ten minutes late and taking two tries to introduce myself, I soon realised I was far too steamed to make good life decisions, and the night was off to a good start. He was a good looking guy, although his Scandinavian looks contradicted my go to dark and brooding type.
The chat flowed for a while as we ticked off what we studied, mutual friends, travel etc. I even dropped a dirty joke, although he didn’t quite understand. Either he was drunker than me or was taking the piss, as he kept proclaiming I was too sober.
Things started getting all too serious when a cabaret show begun, thankfully old mate saw my look of desperation and we made an unsubtle run for the door between acts. Although, our show went on for a wee bit longer when we headed to the next bar for another few drinks.
Being your classic white girl wasted I thought shots were a good idea. This only led to me being far more interested in the twins at the table behind us. My memory fails me from this point, but I do recall leaving together, being stopped by his girl mates outside and them giving me the “he doesn’t have a big dick but he can kind of use it” chat which was the extra push I needed to encourage me to end the night there.
Cheers for an interestingly good night Critic and thanks for the great food and drink from Dog with Two Tails! 10/10 would recommend.