A long distance fling with a 40 year old crackhead, being savagely ghosted by a posh boy and being condemned for addressing a dwarf as a “midget”. No, this isn’t a game of would you rather, it was the state of my dating life. After a tub or two of Half Baked and Cookie Dough I felt bloated, pathetic and HSBC was on the blower telling me I had entered an “un arranged overdraft.” So I switched to smoking cigarettes and re downloaded Hinge. For the third time.
Things started off rough.
I was biting off more than I could chew- tossing likes around, (reaching the like limit) and not getting much back. Dudes liking me had answers on their profile such as “Probably won’t reply to U”, or “First round’s on me if you…just show up.” As I was about to delete the app again, I stopped in my tracks. There was a like from a director I was obsessed with. Drake’s “God’s Plan” never resonated with me more.
He started in with a bang.
I’m talking convo that surpassed the mundane “hey how are you?” and had me laughing out loud on my Saturday morning walk. Dogs I passed by looked at me as if to say “let us in on the joke!” When he suggested we go for drinks that night, I thought “Why the HELL not?”
I was nervous as usual and got a gin and tonic can on the train which tasted like washing detergent.
Did I feel well? No, no I didn’t. I had a bunged up nose and headache, but my mum reminded me that dating is a numbers game so I persevered like a fucking CHAMP.
Peckham Rye was bustling with hotties and I had my front camera out to see if I still looked as fresh as I did ten mins ago. Spoiler alert- I did!! The doors swung open and he was sitting on a stool at the bar. The best thing about him from his pictures- his chin length hair- was awful in real life- receding at the top and tapered around his face, which looked uncomfortable.
I hopped up on a stool next to him and started frantically turning a book- a huge thing that looked like the one in the first scene of Shrek. It was the menu, (innovative!) and when I blurted out “cocktails!!” he said-
“Yeah… shall we go somewhere else?”
“Soo… what do you do?”
“I’m a director”. I pushed for more details and he reeled off a few titles.
“No. FREAKING. Way!! You’re him?? Cor!!” Delivered in a way that would’ve made a passerby understand why I never got the speaking roles in school plays.
We ordered beer in cans (too hoppy 4 me) and sat on a ‘proper’ table which made my heart break because the spin of the bar stools allowed for a bit of “free flow” movement.
Surprisingly he asked questions so I ran my mouth quite a bit, but he still looked blank whilst asking more which was weird. Like a job interview down the morgue. He paid at the end for the four beers in total, with a smug tap of card on machine. I got a tenner out to be polite, and muttered:
“Can I… contribute?”
and he snatched it out my hand. I felt robbed and in need of some han san!
We walked to another few bars and the beer must’ve got to my head because I gushed I was his “biggest fan”, closely followed by “Don’t mean to kiss your ass, though yeah, don’t get too gassed my g”, as if I thought I was fucking Sully from Top Boy. #Sullybutlighter #HelloDave!!
At the second place
We sat on blue velvet cinema chairs and I was anxious to amp things up.
“You really look like- nah, I won’t say it.”
“Ok, go on then, I will. You really look like… Robert Pattinson… if he shagged a cat.”
He looked off into the distance and replied-
“I’ll take that as a compliment I guess.”
Clearly feeling obliged to throw a compliment back at me, he said-
“So…are your eyes grey or what?”
“They’re green.” And I fluttered them a bit which I think looked more like my mate Ophelia’s recently received eye twitch, than anything alluring.
He knew I’d come from West so said-
“Do you want to come to my place instead of getting a night bus?”
What a sexy offer, I thought. But he did raise a good point, the night bus is full of dregs!!!
So I nodded and said yes and when he said “Are you hungry?” I thought, Wow! Is this geez a mind reader or what?!!
5 mins later
Is when he said-
“Here we are!”
I looked up at Morleys and felt like I might as well be Amelia “Dimz”. Well, if she interviewed poor directors instead of grime musicians.
“Let’s get chicken wings.”
Wouldn’t be by first choice, but do as the Romans do, I supposed.
Maybe the beers had been laced with crack, or maybe I’m just overly polite, because when the total came to a whopping £3 for both, I offered up £1.50, which again, he took without hesitation. Was this a GoFundMe for his next smash hit?
The wings were spicy and seeing him under the fluorescent lighting turned my stomach a bit.
Walking back to his place
I think I got too comfortable because I turned the topic to Madeleine Mccann and how the cadaver dogs should’ve been taken more seriously. (True tho)
As he opened the door he put his finger to his lips and said:
“Shhh. My Mum’s sleeping.”
He motioned me into the living room, which I didn’t really get until he began fiddling with the sofa which soon enough transformed into his… bed. This was the second time in my life The Wanted’s “All Time Low” began to play in my head.
“Can we watch Dodgeball?”
“It’s not on Netflix.”
“Listen, it’s only on iTunes and I’m not paying four pounds.” Is seeing Ben Stiller in spandex not worth that boyo? Real eyes- realise- real lies. He tried to save face with:
“Do you want to borrow pyjama bottoms?”
I scanned his withering frame and let out a laugh.
So I lay there in my jeans, on top of the covers as we watched “Happy Gilmore”, an Adam Sandler film I’d never seen before. I fake laughed a few times, taking some serious swigs on the Red Stripe can I bought, starting to believe the psychic who told me “You’ll only find love in New York.”
We sat there like lying like wooden planks, and when the film finished, he kissed me.
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