Broke London

A car crash guide to surviving life

The Worst Date in the World Ever

As we already know from my detailed account of my date with this guy, I am no stranger to a bad date. I like to think I take them in my stride with a blitz make do and mend style optimism. The girl scout of dating.
Once in a while the mothership of bad dates will arise. Most single girls will have one. A girl I work with once regaled me with the tale of walking into a boys bedroom to find a giant whiteboard with a list of the top 30 most important things in his life. Number 16 was ‘Made in Chelsea’.
I’m just going to let that one hang in the air. Take it in.
ANYWAY, whilst there were no whiteboards in sight this guy could give mr MIC a run for his money and sanity.
Are you sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin.
I met S on a dating app that I won’t name lest this tale of woe cause its membership to decrease violently.
Unlike most other bad date experiences there were no warning signs with this one. No worrying revelations (‘I mean I just think that if a girl isn’t waxed from chin to toes she’s pretty disgusting’ – yes really), no unsolicited dick pics whilst I was innocently watching tv (I would just like to say ‘G’ that you bloody ruined swiss roll week on GBBO for me) and no topless pics or tigers in sight.
In fact he was really quite lovely. Funny and charming. Recommended me a book that I devoured and loved. I actually started to quite like the invisible person on the other end of my phone.
So the day of our big date came. Background information. It was during that ridiculous heatwave last summer so I was obviously very nervous about sweating. Good for you if you manage to swan your way through 30 degree heat without developing a liquid moustache and wanting to lie down in a fridge. I am not one of those people so safe to say I was looking like a mad sweaty beetroot which was making me very worried for the date.
I needn’t have worried.
We met under a leafy tree near my office (in hindsight he was ever so slightly lurky on account of working in the BUILDING NEXT DOOR TO ME – the gift that kept on giving for months) and he was handsome and tall enough for me to ignore that he was wearing a pocket square. So far so good.
We walked to the pub hand in hand in the sunshine (clammy alert), chatting and laughing with only my intense fear of sweating on him stopping me from feeling like I was in a film.
We arrived at the pub, found a seat in the nice big garden opposite two girls and ordered some drinks. So far so good.
Things went rapidly downhill from here.
Conversation was a little stilted, not at all like when we chatted over whatsapp. (Ah whatsapp you deceptive fiend!) So I was fairly surprised when he launched himself at me and kissed me.
I don’t know how to say this nicely so I won’t. He kissed me as if he were trying to suck out my soul or at the very least had a bet with his mates to see who could keep their tongue on a girls tonsils for the longest time. Or perhaps he had heard that I had buried treasure down my oesphagus. You get the picture.
Still I was not deterred. God loves a trier.
Unfortunately, he then became convinced that the girls sitting opposite us were making rude comments about us kissing. I imagine if they did say anything (I heard nothing) it was probably ‘gosh I wonder if that girl has buried some treasure in her throat. I do hope that boy manages to find it as it must be uncomfortable for her to store it there’
Not content with ignoring them he became loudly rude and aggressive towards them. i.e. put his arm round me and then shouting loudly ‘IS THAT OK?! AM I OFFENDING YOU’
At this point I knew in my heart that he had jumped aboard the one way train to Psycho Town, destination EVERY MAN I HAVE EVER MET ON TINDER EVER. However, I was unwilling to give up. Maybe he was just trying to be funny? Maybe he suffered from mood swings that only came out in extreme heat. Sure we wouldn’t be able to take the kids to the beach but surely we could do a trip to Devon once in a while.
I suggested that we left and went somewhere else. He agreed.
On leaving the pub I found myself the unwilling recipient of another ‘kiss’. I was not enjoying this and tried to squirm away however he had other ideas and…wait for it… pinched my nipple so hard that I had to feel inside my bra to make sure it was still attached.
I asked him to stop. He responded by trying to put my hand on his crotch.
At this point I calculated that my best plan for escape (who doesn’t love a date that starts in romance and ends in escape plans) was to walk in the direction of ‘another’ pub and then beeline for the nearest station.
This is why you shouldn’t choose a pub 100 miles away from any form of public transport.
We began walking.
Him: ‘Where would you like to go next?’
Me: Oh…um.. I don’t mind. (It’s immaterial crazy old Maurice. I shall be running for the hills long before you’ve launched your next borderline sexual assault) lets walk towards the station.
Him: Ok. I want to find a pub with a sofa. Facing the wall preferably. For maximum PDA.
Taken 2
As I began planning my escape in a level of detail that would have made Liam Neeson proud, Psycho McGropes-a-lot stopped abruptly and began to pat himself down furiously.
Him: I’ve lost my sunglasses!
Me: Oh right. Um..
Me: right. Maybe you left them in the pub.
Him: We have to go back
Me: oh really? (NO you crazy bellend we’ve been walking for 20 minutes and I’ve got heels on and I’m so sweaty I think if I lifted my arms above my head I could just slither out of my clothes like a greased seal)
Him: Yeah. Do you mind if I run ahead? Hold my jacket.
And with that he RAN off, leaving me holding his jacket. I deleted the app on which I met him as I watched his retreating back.
Let me just say here. Had this date happened to me last week I would have hung his jacket on the nearest tree and walked off. But I was naïve and shoulda woulda coulda.
So instead I idly walked back to the pub and found him angrily kicking a bush.
He saw me and his eyes lit up.
‘Right good, you’re quite small. Can you come here and have a look in this hedge, I think they might have rolled under here.’
Ladies and gentleman, I hate to tell you this but I did indeed search in the hedge. I also got an infected insect bite which was a lovely memento that I treasured for weeks after.
Glasses unrecoverable he resumed his bush kicking whilst I quietly booked myself an uber. Alan the uber man was only 3 minutes away but I feared that this weirdo could squeeze quite a lot of psycho in that time.
I was right.
He looked at me and sighed. To fill the awkward silence, I proffered ‘Well. I’m sorry you lost your sunglasses’.
Him: well…it’s not really your fault.
Right. It’s not my fault at all actually freakhead.
Me: Right well I think I’m going to call it a night.
Him: Yeah. Sorry I was going to take you home and bang you but I’m just too depressed now. So sad about my sunglasses.
Take. You. Home. And. Bang. You.
I high tailed it home where I cried a river of tears as I lamented my lost love.
JOKES – I went to the the pub to meet my friends and ended up wearing a cow hide rug at four am shouting ‘WHERE ARE MY SUNGLASSES?’ whilst my lunatic mates cackled like witches.
And that’s all folks.
Oh, oh wait no it’s not. He texted me the next day to say he was really sorry but we shouldn’t see each other again as he felt there WASN’T A SPARK.
So concludes the tragic joke of my dating life.

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