Last night, Miss Fifi
and I met up with The Shameless
Self-Promoter and his friend on what turned out to be one of the worst dates
I have ever been on. Ever - and I’ve had to sit and eat pizza with an autistic boy
before!
The only thing that actually kept
me on the date was the fact that I had Miss
Fifi with me to hold my hand, help pour as much wine for me as possible,
and team up with to lie our way out of having to go to a bar after the fateful
dinner we were forced to live.
Maybe this
would be best if I just summarised the key failures of the night out:
** Having told us to meet then at the station at half past,
I got a call at quarter two (just two minutes before Miss Fifi’s cut off point, after which we would have happily taken
ourselves off for pub grub and girly chats), telling us where we had to go to
get to another meeting point – a boy who’s too lazy to honour the meeting plan
that he made; not off to the best
start then. He directed us to a Yo! Sushi,
where I assumed we would be meeting. On
route, Miss Fifi asked what we would
do if they were leading us to a flat rather than public place. I assured her
that no one would be that mental. WRONG. Crossing the street on the phone, we
were instructed to “Look up”. Two
boys (ok men – the wrong side of 30, but a long shot) on a balcony, beers in
hand, beer guts hanging out, instructing us to wait while they ‘finished up and
came down”. Brilliant, we were going into the flat, but we did have to go and
collect them from their home. Not impressed.
**On the walk to the restaurant (about two minutes away) I
learnt that The SSP “owned seven
companies (didn’t believe that shite for a minute), was a stand up comic in his
free time (when you run three companies, you have no free time, and when you
have no chat, you can’t be a stand-up – it just doesn’t work!), that
mummy-daddy owned half of Guernsey and that he really had been drinking since
lunch. We were two minutes in, and I wanted to get out of it already.
**As The Other One
was really quite nice (almost too nice, bordering on dull) we managed to get
some fairly level conversations flowing, The
SSP kept butting in with random “To my left, if you had to get a dog, what
sort would it be?” I suppose that if we had been sat in silence, that would
have been fine, but he overrode natural conversation to dominate the table with
his nonsense. He also insisted on cheers-ing with every gulp of wine that he
took, and let me tell you, he took a lot. Ergh, talk about hard work.
**Finally and most importantly, The Shameless Self-Promoter is undoubtedly, a massive cokehead. I
don’t know how much crap he had put up his nose before we arrived, but having
pointed out the obvious habit to Miss
Fifi, she confirmed my suspicions, and our tolerance to his odd behaviour
quickly deteriorated. When it came time
to leave and he insisted on us going on for another drink, I don’t think I have
ever had to be more rude to man that’s bought my dinner, but I have to say,
there is not a rat in hell’s chance that I would ever see him again, and I know
for sure that if I was ever faced with a similar situation again without my Miss Fifi safety net, I would have been
out of the door five minutes into the date.
It was bad. It was oh so bad. But I guess it’s one that can
be ticked off the list, and on a positive, I’m already seeing the funny side. I
suppose that single men of a certain age are only going to be online dating for
one key reason – they’re cut through with a high dose of crazy. Proper crazy!
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