Me Love You Long Time | Issue 17

Me Love You Long Time | Issue 17

Critic’s blind date column has been running for a while now. We’ve all got some good laughs out of it, and at least a few people have scored themselves a night of romance. But here at Critic we feel that it’s time that we stepped it up a notch. The date is now at Metro to add a little more spice. If you want in on the action, email with your details.


Things started off well at least. The chat was flowing quite freely and we talked about a wide range of subjects. We started off with the usual questions and decided to tell each other our most embarrassing stories in order to further break the ice. Her stories were quite boring and unremarkable. I guessed that because she is a student in Dunedin, she must really have some huge adventures but wasn’t telling me about them in order to maintain an air of class. As our bar tab dried up she said she wanted to go somewhere else. I was surprised at this because we had Metro pretty much to ourselves, plus a roaring fire, so I asked her where she would like to go and she said “your place”.


While walking back I decided I should learn from my previous mistakes by reading between the lines and being prepared for any eventuality (once I walked a girl home after town and she asked me to come in and have a coffee, I said “no thanks, coffee at this hour would keep me up all night” – what a mare). I remembered I had no condoms so I developed a scheme where I would pop into the 2-4 under the pretence of buying a milkshake and put them in my pocket. When I was sure she was out of eyesight I engaged in Operation Rubber Shield and as the condoms were on the counter I saw her looking over my shoulder seeing what I was buying. Awkward. I went outside but she wasn’t there. I turned around and saw her in the far corner of the store frantically sending a text. Definitely sending out an S.O.S. to friends. I didn’t know how the evening was going to unfold but I now knew what wasn’t going to happen. We continued to my flat and as we were both sitting on my bed I thought to myself there are only two things to do in my flat: eat and be cold. The fridge was empty so that kind of narrowed things down. I asked her what she wanted to do and realised by the way she blushed this question was more ominous and suggestive than originally intended. Fucking hell brain, and I wonder why I’m single. She promptly said she needed go back home and that was the end of a mostly enjoyable night.


The night began with the usual few drinks at the flat, getting warmed up for the night ahead. Boy if only I had known what I was getting myself in to. Arriving at Metro, the barmaid pointed me in his direction. He wasn’t bad looking, but he definitely wasn’t the Johnny Depp I’d been dreaming of for the past week. The same old yarns were spun, where we came from, what we studied, then a few deeper conversations about families and where we were headed in the future. Looking across the table at him did not get me as wet as a BA’s tears when they can’t get a job. The lame “when did you fall down from heaven” line also didn’t help the chance of wet weather.

Luckily the talk flowed easily enough and by the time the food arrived it was off to the loo to send the flatties a quick sneaky text update. I was quizzed on how big I reckoned his junk was and from what I had seen, I sent back “too small for my liking!!!” After spending a good ten minutes texting the girls, I went to leave the loo, only to manage to successfully lock myself in the Metro toilets. So banging on the door I waited for the (luckily downstairs) builders to come and rescue me from my toilet prison.

Back I returned to the hot seat. I demolished my delicious pizza only to have him steal some of my savoury snack, claiming that his five cheese was disgusting. Five cheeses on one pizza!? Of course it’s going to be bad and I hate sharing food, that was his first mistake. With the food gone, we sidled along to the bar and got some drinks. Being a Southern girl, it wasn’t a good sign for me when my date was drinking more girly drinks than I was. Gin and tonic? Vodka and orange? Bring a man a Speights any day over that shit. The bar tab disappeared pretty quickly and we headed off back to his. I briefly met his flatmates before he shut his door angrily at me when I said it was late and I was heading home. Who knew going back to a guy’s place meant you were obliged to sleep with him. Some classy girls do still exist in Dunedin although we are a rare breed. He ruined any second chance with me by doing that, but I do hope he gives my number to his hot flatmate.
This article first appeared in Issue 17, 2012.
Posted 10:46am Sunday 22nd July 2012 by Lovebirds.