The hopeful lovers on the Critic Blind Date are provided with a meal and a bar tab, thanks to Ombrellos and Cello.
If you’re looking for love and want to give the Blind Date a go, email email@example.com
Self-respect, confidence, and the occasional solid banter. I possess none of the above sober. Imagine the awkwardness of Bill Cosby wearing a crop-top in a feminist club, and you’re halfway to picturing my personality without a drop of God’s Ale. Naturally I became a semi-alcoholic before arriving at Ombrellos to bring out my more subtle traits.
She walked in 15 minutes late and saw me smiling in the corner like Barney on fucking ecstasy. We chatted. We flirted. I went to the bathroom. Once back I found out that she was a fresher, did a BA in education and was from the outskirts of Oamaru. I’m a 3rdyear, doing a BSc and am whiter than John Key in a snowstorm. You could say we mixed as well as a tourism degree and career prospects. Bathroom break #2. Anyway, we got talking about religion and politics, the classic dinner time gossip, when she brought up her tattoos. I’m all good with tats, except for the whole inked-skin aspect. Apparently they were all over her stomach which she hinted I would see later (couldn’t possibly imagine what she meant by that).
Three toilet breaks later, we decided to make like an abortion and leave early. Coincidently, her flat (for a fresher, what the fuck??) was en route to mine. For undisclosed reasons, I did not want to invade the pink fortress that night. I did not butter her biscuit nor ride the bedroom rodeo. Sorry to the sick bastards reading this hoping to read some poor man’s 50 Shades. At the intersection of my place, I made the excuse “you’re too young for me” before we headed our separate ways.
Cheers for the night Critic.
PS anyone looking for dating tips, slip into my dm’s.
It all began at 6 o'clock with me unceremoniously downing the best Jacob’s Creek wine that $7 can buy, a couple of stolen Smirnoffs, and getting one of the most lacklustre pep talks of my whole life.
I arrived a fashionable 15 minutes late, and was greeted by my date with a formal handshake, and a horrified "do you not drink?" as he nodded at my vodka orange. Once I sat down he began to guess my year level and I saw all light leave his eyes when I replied that I was a fresher, and I began to question the Critic’s morals and ethics when I found out he was a third year exactly two years older than me right down to the day and hour. This later turned out to be a major problem.
After an hour and half of listening to my date talk about his studies (neurology) and interests (also neurology), and how much he missed high school (he definitely peaked there) we were finally seated for dinner thank God because at this point I was struggling to continue nodding at his stories and was hoping a change in scenery would lead to a change in topics.
As we began to look at the menu, he mentioned that he was a vegetarian, which sparked a debate about teeth and their purpose and we concluded that they are used for eating meat. He continued on by ordering the venison lol. I was super thankful that finally the conversation shifted and he began to open up, speaking of opening up this guy must've gone to the bathroom at least 5 times, which was great as I was able to message the girls a play-by-play commentary of what was happening, which was very little.
As the night grew to an end it was obvious that we would not be going back to either of our flats to further discuss neurology or other animalistic qualities, so we very uncomfortably parted ways with a salute and a “it’s not you, it’s your age”. Awesome.
Cheers to Critic for putting on the spread, the lovely waitress at Ombrellos who shared my grimaces, and the nice lad from Tinder who picked me up after