So let me tell you about the worst date I ever had.
I met Matthew online; Plenty of Fish. When people use the expression ‘There are Plenty of Fish in the sea’, they neglect to tell you about the rancid, slimy creatures sluicing around the dark murky depths of online dating.
Well Matthew seemed ok really, we had a few nice chats online. He seemed genuinely interested and asked me a lot of questions. Conversation seemed to flow quite well between us.
After around a month of chatting about random pointless shit he asked to meet me. Well he didn’t look like a horror, as far as I could tell; so I thought ‘What’s there to lose? (Apart from quite possibly my life! Well you do hear the odd horror story!)
I wisely suggested meeting Matthew in a well known country pub with a large outdoor seating area at the front. I (again wisely) told Freya and Amelia where I was; putting Freya on standby for an emergency collection should anything go wrong.
I waited outside patiently. He was late. For fucks sake. Nervously playing with my bracelets, I nursed a tasty Zinfandel and chained a few marlboros.
Finally, thirty minutes late, he appeared “Clara? Hi, it’s me Matthew!”
Now you know one of those moments where you want to freeze time and die? That’s how I felt.
My fears had been realised, he was in fact a goblin. There were massive gaping holes in his ears, probably the size of a twopence piece, but nothing inside them. He was also missing a chunk out of the top of one of them. Like he’d been involved in some kind of tragic wild animal attack. So his ears (well what he had left of them) were sagging and waggling around as he talked, he was at least a foot shorter than I had imagined and had a faint smell of urine about his person. I already knew in my heart he was a horrible moron.
We got talking anyway and he ordered a pint, it was a very standard, boring “Where do you live? What do you do? Where do you go out?” sort of conversation.
I wanted out of this scenario; I didn’t fancy him obviously, but I didn’t want to be blatantly rude. Maybe he didn’t fancy me. It’s unlikely, but it’s possible.
I was considering my exit strategy when his initial cool broke, and he exclaimed,
“I can’t believe you haven’t commented on it!”
I was like “On what?” (Mostly wondering if he was talking about his ears?? Shit. What should I say?)
He looked over to the car park dramatically. I thought fuck me, what’s going on? Is there a fight? Is someone hurt?
Matthew nodded at the car park again and said
I mean I barely know what a jaguar looks like. I have an idea but I don’t really care; the fact that he felt the need to say it, really put me off! Who gives a shit about your car when your banter is weak and you have weird goblin ears?
He said “You haven’t commented on it. Why not? All the usually girls do by now.”
For fucks sake MAJOR TWAT ALERT. Code red girls, someone come and get me!
I was getting over the shock of realising my date was an absolute shambles, picturing my lonely spinster life in Amelie’s granny flat with a plethora of golden retrievers; when I realised he had just come back from his loo trip with a full bottle of blossom hill Zinfandel and another pint. As he’d already bought it, and Freya was a good twenty minute drive away it would be rude not to have at least a glass or two, to soften the blow of this date failure.
The more wine I sipped, the worse he became. Not only was he a goblin, he was a chauvinistic goblin.
He kept asking why I don’t cook. I said it was because I was shit at it, and didn’t enjoy it. (I follow the twat diet, but he didn’t need to know about that!) But, don’t all women know how to cook? Shouldn’t they learn? He made a few jokes about being chained to the kitchen sink. Hysterical. Comedian extraordinaire. I was fucking fuming at this point.
He then changed the subject and asked me to rate him out of ten. This fella was clearly living in cloud cuckoo land. I said no for obvious reasons, I didn’t fancy him or particularly even like him, but I didn’t want to hurt his feelings with honesty and I didn’t like him enough to lie.
“You’re a strong eight!”
I could have taken this either of two ways. Eight is very close to ten and if you did a test and got 8/10, you’ve not passed with flying colours but you’ve not failed miserably. But I couldn’t help wondering what this deluded saggy eared wanker thought I was missing? Fuck it, I thought; I’m gonna bite the bullet and ask him.
“So what would I need, to get the full 10/10?’
”You’d make the ten, if you had sex with me!”
I got my coat and legged it as fast as I could.
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