Best First Date Ever!

NOT!! I’ve been meaning to write about the worst date in history. It may not be an uplifting post but it does make for a good story.

Lateish one night a couple of weeks ago, my sister arrived at my flat to spend the night after an evening at some new restaurant / bar opening. Enthusiastically tipsy, she announced that she’d set me up on a date. With a 26 year old Spaniard who was tall dark and handsome-enough and seemed “very nice.” I protested. She insisted. By the end of the evening the Spaniard had my details.

The next day I received an email from said suitor – let’s call him Gustav. Very definitely not Spanish then. This made me worry about Britt’s observational skills on that fated night (Note to self: always trust your instincts). Gustav proved to be very chatty. I had never met the dude, but he found stuff to email me about all bloody day. Given the email banter, I expected G to be friendly and confident. But as we met outside the tube station a few days later he looked like a deer in the headlights. Super awkward / glued to the spot. I couldn’t figure out if he was a) extremely disappointed by what he saw, or b) had the social skills of an ape. To be fair I thought I looked pretty decent that night and he owned a nose the size of Madagascar so I’m assuming it was the latter.

We went to a bar in Notting Hill – he sat there fidgeting and looking quite pained while I tried to make conversation about abso-bloody-lutely anything!!…  he managed to comment that it “felt like an interview.”  I wanted to slap him but instead I pronounced that I would stop trying to make conversation with him forthwith.  He apologised and stated that he didn’t mean it like that, he just needed to “up his game” and started glugging the wine at a rapid pace. I have no idea WHY (politeness?? / charity??) but when he suggested dinner at a nearby French restaurant I agreed. MISTAKE!!!

The waitresses at the restaurant were beautiful – we’re talking supermodel potential. One caught G’s eye in a big way, and he gawked at her non-stop with all the subtlety of a bull in a China shop. Predictably, his conversational skills didn’t improve one bit and he even got his phone out and started checking messages / texting his friends. I suffered through dinner, actually chuckling to myself at the bizarreness of it all and making a mental note to kidney-slap my sister. As dinner finished I decided that the young ‘un could do with a few home truths. “Gustav, here are a few tips: 1) Next time you take a girl for dinner, attempt a conversation with her. Trying to talk to you is like trying to draw blood out of a stone. 2) It’s RUDE to pull your phone out and start texting and scrolling through messages when you’re having a meal with someone new. 3) If you’re going to gawk at the waitress all night, you’ll need to work on your subtlety skills. He looked (briefly) aghast and stated that he was actually having a very nice evening and was not, in fact, gawking at the waitress, but rather at the very elaborate window. When the bill came I told him that I would usually offer to split it, but on this occasion it was all his. He happily paid the bill, and even suggested going back to his place. Do you think being THAT detached from reality is a kind of a skill?

On the very expensive cab ride back home I resolved to become a nun.

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