29 October 2014


So I went on a date with The Writer.

It was...well...

OK where do I begin? Dinner was arranged in my neighbourhood. Imaginary fist pump! If things don't work out it's a short walk to my bed. And if they do work out, it's a short walk to my bed.

I also get to go home, freshen up/consider a whole new outfit from the one chosen for work. I would also like to add that I was so tired I could have vomited because I have been working super hard and shiz.


I decided to stick with the afore-chosen work outfit because I looked hot. And I had nothing else to hand. So many clothes, none of them clean.

So, our first mistake was we hadn't actually chosen a restaurant. I thought we would take a subdued non committal stroll around the rows of restaurants before both agreeing on a cuisine and sitting straight down to eat with no awkward queuing conversation.

I made my way to the rendezvous point and looked around - he was nowhere to be seen. I stood pretending I was answering an important message when I was really organising my apps into manageable groups. These things can get on top you, you know. I looked up and saw him coming. OK good, he seems to be how I remember him. Tall, dark, handsome. He got closer and maybe not as good looking, but still it wasn't a complete beer goggle situation on my behalf.

Now I am never confident how to greet someone on a first date. Handshake seems too formal/friends zone whereas a kiss on the cheek seems a step too far. Maybe? I dunno. It's a fuckin' minefield. Get it right and it sets the tone for the date, get it wrong and it sets the tone for the date. So anyway, he was thinking handshake, I was thinking hug, maybe a peck, none of us were backing down from our preferred mode of greeting and what ensued was possibly the most awkward moment in the history of awkward moments. A kind of half hug, lip grazing ear, hand holding mess.

We moved on quickly.

After we walked around for a while, trying to self-lobotomise the last few moments, we settled on Mexican. To be honest, I didn't care if it was human faeces flung at us by Iranian goat herders, I just wanted to sit down and get a drink.


As our Margaritas came it was quite clear I was going to need another one pronto because they were the size of shot glasses. As I inhaled mine, he was taking steady sips.

OK conversation. I'm not gonna lie, I wasn't on best form as I was super tired, but I was asking interesting questions about his life, his work and all I was really getting back was a lot of negativity. I don't care how much you fucking hate your job, don't talk about how much you fucking hate your job when you're on a date. End of. But that was all he seemed to want to do. It was so draining.

This is an example of one conversation topic. Not the greatest question on my behalf, but I was struggling to extract anything out of him that was not a moan:

"So have you been to Mexico?"

"No, one of my friends was travelling around South America and he asked me if I wanted to go to Mexico and I wanted to go to Mexico, so I said yes, but then he only told me the night before he was going to Mexico, that he was going to Mexico, so I didn't go to Mexico because he didn't give me enough notice to get to Mexico."

Yeah no fucking wonder. And you're a writer. Of comedy.  

I really grappled with what to say to that and in a moment of panic settled for, "Did you know that Tacos, Enchiladas and Burritos are pretty much the same thing?"

After dinner we took a stroll in the early Autumn evening. Much of the same moan continued and I wondered if he ever felt excited or positive about anything. We went for one last drink and I tried to get something out of him that didn't make me want to open my veins in a warm bath, but alas nothing.

We left the bar and finished the night with another awkward exchange (why break with tradition) and went our separate ways.

As I walked the 5 minutes home, I thought how could somebody so perfectly suited to me in every way - age, profession, height, looks - turn out to be so unsuited? It really stunned me. I had pretty much opened a gift registry at Selfridges, I was that sure we were going to get married. Maybe he was nervous, maybe he was having an off day, maybe I am being too picky, but come on!

I haven't texted, he hasn't texted either. For two writers, we sure are short on words.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Gay Blog Award