The time I went on a date: Part 2

Another lengthy tale of my awkward life, handily divided into two parts. Part One is available here.

Eventually it was time for the film. I’d promised an Orange Wednesdays voucher and failed to deliver (friend never got back to me with it!); he tried to contact a friend last minute to get one but that didn’t appear either. Discussion of this failure took up far more of the conversation than I would have liked.
Thus when he tried to insist upon paying for our tickets I outright refused. I felt bad enough as it was. Not to mention the fact that I thought he had a car and it would be no problem for him to get there: turned out he had to take a taxi straight from work. All the way across town. Expensive. Oops. And of course I had to ask where he lived: and of course it turned out to be 4 streets down the road from me. I couldn’t not offer him a lift home.

We chatted while the adverts were on. An interview was played in which a man had a thumb war with an actor, whereupon B turned to me and declared that he had never been beaten in a thumb war. This did make me laugh; he was clearly messing about but then he insisted on challenging me. He wasn’t lying when he said he was good: I nearly lost that thumb then. Guess that would have brought the date to a swift close.
He heard it click as it bent backward and apologised, holding out his hand as though ready to take my hand and ‘inspect for damage’. Far be it from me to judge such tricks, as we know I am not above that shizzle, but I just wasn’t into it. I laughed it off (I was going to stick the good old adjective ‘awkwardly’ in there but really? I think we can just take that as a standing situational thing. It was all awkward).

The film itself was fine. Part of a series, the rest of which I’d never seen, so I was rather confused throughout but whatever. It was alright. And the lead actor was kind of cute.

As we walked down the steps out of the screening room B ended up ahead of me. My glance happened to fall on the back of his neck: two small silver bars poked out of his neck. Like tiny, tiny Frankenstein’s monster bolts. It was a weirdly deep-looking piercing as well. Anyway, regardless of depth, I’m not a fan of piercings in men (personally I don’t like any piercings but that is due to my combined needles and holes phobias). Not important but still.

I drove him home. He didn’t actually show me where his house or even his actual street were: he just said the layby under the bridge was fine. So ok, I pulled over. I was extremely worried that this would be the moment he went for a kiss. He began to lean over… for a hug. Relieved, I returned the hug and promptly SMACKED HIM IN THE FACE with my upper arm. Hastily I began to withdraw and apologise: mid-apology I once again SMACKED HIM IN THE FACE, this time with my hand. He just got out then.

I drove home ever so fast and hunted out my housemate and her boyfriend. Like surrogate parents they listened to every detail, offered me about 20 pieces of conflicting advice (while B texted me about the good time he’d had) and then we went to the drive through for McFlurries. So that was good.

The time I went on a date

It’s another random and long ongoing tale! Some may say I should finish one before I start another but yo, this is how I roll! Mainly cos I couldn’t be bothered to write the other one right now.

I originally wrote this in the before time – the date in question happened last year – but, as I had started telling this saga here before (and cos I read this and thought it was alright) I reckoned I might as well publish it. I want to state: I mean no offence to my datee here. Awkwardness was due to me. He was a nice guy who I just ultimately wasn’t interested in in that way.

Well I did it. I went on a date. A rather awkward date but that was to be expected. And hey, it wasn’t terrible.

Our original plan had been to meet at the cinema just before the film, however, B texted and asked whether I could meet him for a drink first. I really wasn’t sure about this – I’d thought that he might suggest going for a drink after but before? According to my friends and family: before is better. Gets it over and done with, it’s got a clear time limit and then at the end you can just go. I hadn’t thought of any of these things but, on reflection, I agreed.

And so we met 45 minutes before the film. I know that’s not long but hey; one drink (cos how early can I eat dinner, huh?) I’d driven there and as I opened my car door my phone bleeped: a text from him. He was already there. Fighting the sudden urge to leap in my car and keep driving until there was no more Britain to drive on, I headed toward the cinema. There he was. He looked… strangely red around the eyes. Like he’d been crying. I don’t know why – I wasn’t that late (two minutes tops).

He hugged me. Previous statements have declared how I feel about physical contact so I need say no more on that front.

He’d never been to that area before and so I suggested a bar. He offered to buy drinks – a coke for me, a pint for him. Pleasant but stilted conversation ensued. As we moved to sit at a table he decided to do a ‘cheers’-clink move with his glass. Sadly I had just leaned down to sip through my straw, half way through that sip I realised why he was shoving his glass at me and quickly tapped mine on his. I didn’t quite twig that some coke had just entered my mouth, the movement whipped the straw out of my mouth and the coke followed. I spluttered and dribbled awkwardly.

As I listened to him speak I began to feel awful. He told me about his life – his family back down south and his upcoming visit for his nephew’s birthday. There was a whole life there with just one gap: a gap for a girlfriend to slot into. I felt like I could see a path I would never take, it would never be me in that gap – it was all there before me but I knew, even then, that I just wasn’t interested in dating him.And no, it probably was no great loss to him, I’m sure he had no trouble finding dates. But it was the strangest sensation of seeing little snippets of a whole life laid out like a patchwork quilt with a square missing. I’m sure it’s just my overactive imagination but in that moment I really felt like I’d Seen Something. I don’t know. Just my own guilt talking really.

Part two will follow shortly (this got long. Like, seriously long. But I swear it’ll just be two parts).