FloTo be honest, I wasn’t expecting much from the night. The likelihood of a decent guy signing up for the blind date was small. So my flatmates and I spent the trip making plans for how to get me out of there in case I ended up with a boring guy in it for the free meal, or some creep just out for a root. I reached the restaurant and entered alone, confident in the knowledge that my back-up team was following me in five minutes. However, when I was introduced to my date, all my plans went out the door. He was, to put it bluntly, hot.
I was now wishing I had filled the tank with a bit of booze, although it was probably a good thing that I didn’t because it was my time of the month and alcohol could have fuelled a messy situation. After some conversation it became apparent that he was more than just a pretty face. He was good at keeping the conversation flowing, and listened politely to my boring monologues. I found out he was part-Irish, and despite the lack of accent I enjoyed listening to what he had to say.
I was concentrating so hard on not making a dick of myself that I forgot about my flatmates. They had figured out the situation, but instead of buggering off and leaving us to it, they decided to get seats at the table next to us and began eavesdropping. Of course, I was so absorbed in my date that I didn’t even realise they were there until they were leaving.
We ate our meal and continued chatting each other up. I was starting to internally curse my lack of alcohol and Mother Nature for inconveniencing me this evening. We stayed in the restaurant talking for a long time, delaying having to step out into the cold. Eventually the staff started sweeping up and we decided to brave the cold. Because it wouldn’t be politically correct for me to go home with him I led him on a long walk. Poor guy must have been freezing without a coat. I was sad that I couldn’t warm him up. After a quick exchange of numbers we parted ways. Thanks Critic for hooking me up with a quality guy.
RyderI sat waiting in the restaurant, cradling my raspberry coke as I awaited the arrival of my mystery date. I couldn’t tell if it was anxiety or excitement that had raised my heart rate, or just the utter disbelief that a person with such low self-esteem would ever do something like this. I began sweating uncontrollably, wishing that I had taken the easy option of 30 Panadol instead – this would at least have given me a valid excuse for a no-show. But the Panadol by my bed were not going to make my personal defects and wildly untamed insecurities go away, and neither would the nightly doses of Ben and Jerry’s Half-Baked combined with Bridget Jones’ Diary. Maybe this was to be a turning point in my life. Maybe this would give me the confidence to succeed.
As she walked through the door, my eyes were immediately drawn to the jumper. The fluffy red jumper. This lead to a whole night of thinking of different ways to slingshot her into elaborate pig-filled structures, with the fantasy almost coming true at the swings we visited after dinner. These thoughts detracted my attention from the thrilling conversation about her pet rat Adolf, a subject that would lead to a more painful death than my initial escape route. My order of steak and chicken breast caused a minor altercation due to her being a vegetarian and strongly disagreeing with killing animals for food. I replied that her choice of degree (Japanese combined with Food Science) would only lead to the creation of new varieties of sushi and eel soups.
From what had been interesting and stimulating conversation stemmed a new tęte-ŕ-tęte about my hobby of collecting banana stickers and the time I mistook my cousin’s miscarriage as weight loss – great icebreakers if you’re ever in need.
She was a fine young female with a pretty face, and my nightly rub-in-the-tub will be dedicated to the thought of her and her Pokémon fetish. Cheers to Critic and Angus for the thought-provoking night.