Given that recent attempts to date just the one man at once resulted in my poor little heart getting rather squashed, I have decided not to put all my dating eggs into one basket.
To which end, and despite having one date already scheduled, I have re-taken Old Friend up on his offer to set me up with several of his eligible friends - the beauty of which deal is that if there are no successes, I get taken by Old Friend out on a platonic date that involves a Michelin-starred restaurant. Le Gavroche, here I come.
In an utterly excruciating email to me and the first poor subject, OF made the introduction in his own inimitable way:
X - Blonde, Blonde - X. Blonde, you'll be pleased to know X is both straight and single. X, Blonde is truly lovely and some of the best company imaginable when it comes to drinking away an evening. Excellently distracting tits, too. I gather you're both free on Friday. Numbers below.
Once I’d got over the shock, thinking I now had little to lose, I bit the bullet and texted the guy, suggesting drinks.
Of course, given Old Friend’s track record, I wasn’t entirely convinced.
So, OF, what’s this guy like?
Late 20s, tall, slim, athletic, dirty blonde hair (colour, not cleanliness), background as an engineer, planning to rule the world when he's done his MBA.
It sounded fairly convincing but as we know, boys and girls, good on paper doesn’t equal great to date.
Oh, and did I mention he’s an ex-GB triathlete?
I chose to overlook the fact that Old Friend is clearly hanging out with disgusting overachievers (our last trip to the pub involved an ex-World Championship BMXer and her ex-Olympic rower husband) and instead tried to focus on the positives.
I mean, a gal’s gotta eat. And if it’s off the abs of a national athlete, then so much the better.
Jumping for joy. And why it matters.
8 hours ago