Boy
Well, we didn’t have sex. I thought I would save you all the time by just coming out and saying that. But for those who want to read on …It was as I went to the Octagon that I realised that I didn’t know where Di Lusso was. Resembling a man with his thumb up his arse, I managed to Google Maps my way there. And there she was. It was like the scene in the movies where the guy stares at the girl across the room, the girl who is perfectly lit and whose hair is blowing playfully in the wind. She was the one … standing next to my Critic blind date. Yeah, the person to her immediate right was to be my date for the night.
After some negotiation, we settled on the cheese platter for the meal. This was partly strategic on my behalf, as it would assist in masking the smell of Wednesday night’s lasagne that was inconveniently making a rapid exit in a gaseous form. After gagging my way through conversation, I hastily made a polite beeline for the yet untarnished porcelain. With the kids floating happily in the pool, I put on a brave face and went back out to make more mundane back and forth. Being plied with wine didn’t really stimulate anything other than an exchange of niceties.
With the night bombing more than the current situation in Iraq and Syria, it became especially apparent that it was my time to leave when her flatmates turned up to round off their red card. I headed back home for what was always destined to be a late night sparring session with Samuel L. Jerkson.
A big shout out to Critic for sending me on a blind date with my sister’s friend.
Girl
As the only single and willing girl in the flat, I took it upon myself to sign up for the Critic Blind Date. However, unwilling to let my flatmates off that easily, I pulled a red card that involved setting the rest of the flat on blind dates of their own.Arriving at Di Lusso with a spring in my step, I patiently awaited my date. Having been unlucky in the love department for my three years in Dunedin, I decided to lower my standards for the night. When my date finally showed I realised that perhaps I had not lowered them enough. I don’t want to give this fella’s identity away but I will go as far as saying he was a mixture of Prince Harry and Prince William, having both the fiery locks of Harry and the premature male pattern balding of Will. But that I could have handled. The fact that he was the older brother of a friend was too much, and I realised that this date was not going to come to a “happy ending” as first hoped.
To make the most of a pretty awful situation, I attempted to enjoy the available bar tab. My date, however, was more interested in the food on offer and managed to hoover his way through the entire “Big Cheese” platter. Charming. The chat was average at best and I found myself trying not to yawn as he bragged about how well he’d done in a previous marketing assignment and all the “banging” chicks he’d met on Tinder.
When the bar tab was as dry as my panties, I flicked a text to my flatmates to come to the rescue. They hit Di Lusso like a tornado and my date was lost in the debris, never to be seen again. Date, if you’re reading this, I hope you got home okay.
All in all, it was as if I was having a date with my brother, or maybe even an uncle. Cheers, Critic, for the drinks.