Let me regale you with a couple of tales.
Tales of dates I have been on.
Let’s start with the more horrendous and awkward one, shall we?
This was the first date I’d been on since mine and R’s break up, so I was already horrendously nervous and fidgety, not helped by the fact that the other girl was 20 minutes late.
Not a fantastic start.
Eventually we headed into this adorable little teashop and made awkward small talk until food came. Sipping our tea politely and discussing nothing of importance. Things loosened up. They went okay. We got on well enough. No spark, but still nice.
Then came the awkward portion of any date.
Or at least…what I thought would be the goodbye.
At the door of the teahouse she asked what I planned to do with the rest of the day. I said I had some errands to run and then I was heading home. To which she replied “Great! Where are you going?” and then proceeded to follow me around for the next hour as I did inane odd jobs like buying chickpeas and paying in cheques.
It was the most awkward hour of my life.
Made worse by the friendly cashier in a shop who complimented my tattoos, which sparked a rant from Date #1 about how rude he was for hitting on me and didn’t I just hate it when guys were obvious like that and how she got it all the time which lead to me being treated to a list of guys who had tried to sleep with her in the past month.
When she invited me to a coffee shop for a cuppa I all but legged it in the other direction.
No thank you.
This is the most recent date I’ve been on, and it sounds like something out of a 1950’s novel.
Date #2 lives just a train ride away, but she insisted for paying for pretty much everything since I’d paid for my ticket.
She took me bowling.
I haven’t been bowling since I was about 12. I was terrible at it then and I appear to be equally as terrible over a decade later.
But it was awesome.
We developed a technique called “Granny Balling” which is where you pick the biggest, heaviest, most ridiculous ball you can find and do a sort of bow-legged swing to roll it down the aisle.
Which was oddly effective.
Then we went for a walk along the beach front and up the pier where she treated me to vodka-slush puppies, which are heavenly and what I assume licking God’s face would taste like. (Absolutely no exaggeration, you must go and try one now.)
The conversation was easy, the weather was nice, and I felt better than I had done in weeks. Things were cut short when she had to leave for work, but she insisted on walking me to the train station where she waited and we chatted until my train pulled in.
Then she totted off, slightly drunk, to go to work and I started on my way home.
A most excellent date.
So I seem to have experienced the 2 extremes. I’ve had the chivalrous, wonderful lady who is polite and flirty and lovely. And I’ve had the crazy biznaz who is clingy and jealous of a cashier for daring to talk to me.
More of the first please.