The gals in Social Circle Blonde have had the misfortune to have been on some Really Bad Dates. This seems to be an ongoing phenomenon. Over the years, we've dated the gay ones and the ones who've thought Reiki was an acceptable second-date activity. We've been on dates where the other person's been asked for their autograph; dates that have stressed us out and narrowly escaped dates with the ones related to tyrannical Russian despots. And, sadly, these days seem to be no different, with Lady Luck apparently disinclined to throw any bones any which way.
Best Mate recently had a first date with a lecturer she had initially dismissed, due to his generous covering of facial hair.
“There’s something about beards,” she said on the phone as I tried to persuade the kitten down from the cooker hood. “They freak me out. I just can’t… ergh. The thought of getting my face close to them? Yuck. BUT, I thought I should be a little more open-minded, so we’re going out on Saturday.”
Unfortunately, her open-mindedness didn’t go entirely rewarded.
It was some dreadful student theatre review thing, she said in an email the following Monday. Just… urgh. If I’d not been on a date, I’d have left in the interval. And then we went and had dinner, and he had these really weird coloured lenses in his glasses. I mean, I know he’s an academic, but there’s eccentric, and then there’s just odd. So distracting. And I’ve tried, but I just can’t get past the beard thing.
And PolitiGal recently had a bad date that ended the only way deeply bad dates can: by making use of the friend stashed at the other end of the phone, ready to ring in with a fictional emergency.
“Urgh, thank you!” She said, calling me back once she’d hot-footed it out of the bar, and out of earshot. “That was terrible!”
She regaled me with the details.
“I wasn’t sure at first anyway – he’s a librarian. I mean, I’m sure that most librarians are lovely, but they’re not known for being the most gregarious types. But, he clearly likes books, and drinks real ale, so I thought I’d go. And we got about ten minutes in, and he admitted that he had been to a fantasy fiction convention thingy and the best bit was at the end of the day, when each ‘clan’ nominated a champion and they duelled with each other, using fish as weapons. They had to desist this year after the gashes on one contestant’s arms began to swell alarmingly. I kid you not.”
If she weren’t my friend, I’d have doubled up with laughter. But she is, and being in the process of trying to find suitable males to date, stories like this don’t fill me with confidence.
“And, Blonde… Urgh. The smell. I thought it might have been someone else, but it drifted away when he went to the bar, and came back when he did. I had to get out of there.”
How, in this day and age, anyone turns up to a date smelling foul is beyond me. I can’t think about that bit too much because it makes me sad.
Of course, precedence past and present doesn't mean that I’m entirely filled with confidence when it comes to my new "dating in numbers" theory. I mean, I like to think that I’m optimistic enough that I can still believe that meeting and dating enough men will lead to my finding the one cracker that's undoubtedly out there. Though, as I've said recently, it's the definition of insanity to keep doing the same thing over and over again whilst expecting different results.
Looks like it might just be a matter of time before I find a man, but I imagine he's going to be one of those in a white coat...