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.
Hers - Sweet Mama
I signed up for the Critic blind date to add a tick to my Scarfie bucket list and for the amusement. On the night of the date, I downed a few too many drinks before hand (which in hindsight was a terrible idea) and headed to the restaurant where my date was waiting. Due to the fact that I had previously had a few my drunken mind convinced me he was cute and this was all a good idea, which turned out to be very untrue the next morning.
He was the definition of a wannabe hipster, long hair, tattoos, and a philosophy student with average chat. We ordered a bottle of wine and his liquid confidence seemed to kick in as he forwardly decided to sit next to me and have a cheeky kiss or two at the table. After a bottle of wine, cocktails and then another drink at a bar in the octagon I was next fairly drunk and texted my flattie to come and pick us up. My first mistake of the night…
This is where things turned incredibly hazy and messy. He was welcomed into the flat by my flatmates who interrogated him and low key ripped into him for his terrible fuck boy appearance, stupid comments and how much he bragged about smoking weed. At this point I was so incoherently drunk I invited him to come have a shower with me (no clue why) and took him back to bed. With little memory myself, my flat mates filled me in on my strange drunken antics which I can only imagine. After the shower, the night literally became the weirdest of my life… I was expecting to have an average one nightstand, instead I felt like I was in some weird fetish porn film, but hey I was too drunk at the time to really care. He was incredibly kinky with some weird butt fetishes. He continued to try talk dirty to me, which just came across incredibly weird when he continually referred to me as a “good girl” and asked me to call him “daddy”… Thankfully, we soon fell asleep. The next morning he asked for my number, thankfully I gave him the wrong one, as I pray I never have to see this guy again. As a psychology student I was not ready to help fix his daddy issues and fetishes.
His - Daddy
After we shared a bottle of wine and neglected some garlic bread. The chat was alright enough for me not to remember any of it which suits me and at 9:30 I said goodbye to my dignity and accepted the free ride.
Any worry about me walking home that night was alleviated by her gracious flatmate whom picked me and the lass up. Soon as we walked in I was greeted by her beaming sober flatmates and was shuffled not too discretely to the bathroom. I’m not proud to say it boys, but I struggled to turn my piece of wet spaghetti into anything useful.
Discouraged but not defeated, she introduced me to her friend Dildo McDildoface and we had a pretty pleasant time. Nice guy, needs a shower. All the while I’m having one of those drunk reflection moments, except instead of looking in the bathroom mirror I was sucking on the tits of some girl I met just an hour and a half ago. Continuity is like a sponge they say, but it wasn’t gonna help me here.
After waking up and slotting in a semi chub to seal the deal, she said something about her boyfriend hopefully not minding, and had a laugh at my awkward pause. Good chat to be honest and ultimately gave me the impression of a relatively good night.
Cheers Critic and a Dog with Two Tails for the night to probably not remember.