Here's the deal. I've been single since time immemorial. So, in an attempt to remedy my eternal singledom, and to get over my nauseatingly pathological fear of dates, I've decided to challenge myself. The challenge? To go on one first date a week for a year! So in 52 weeks time, I will have either found my Mr Right, or I'll stay forever Miss Write. This is what happens...


The Rules

Here are the rules to the 52 First Dates challenge...

1. A first date must be had once a week, EVERY week, for 52 weeks.

2. Taking someone home after a drunken night on the cider does NOT count, otherwise this challenge would just be slutty, and none of us want that do we?!?

3. Second and third dates are allowed, I must continue first dates unless there are exceptional mitigating circumstances. For example, God forbid, the start of a relationship.

4. Each date must be blogged.

14 November 2011

Mr #23 - Spittle Italy

The preamble:
The dialogue between Mr #23 and I had been relatively short-lived, but he'd mentioned enough to pique my interest and I agreed to meet him within about 4 days of initial contact. All I new about his was he was Italian, he worked in digital marketing and he lived south of the river. Seemed fair enough, bring it on.

The man:
Age: 32
Profession: Digital marketing manager for the music and graphic industry
Random factoid: Was once chatted up by the boss-eyed lead Singer of Sigur Ros. Or so he thought. It was hard to tell, what with both eyes facing in opposite directions and all...


The date:
To be honest, I really didn't fancy a date tonight. It was a Monday, it was my first day back at an old job, and the only thing I wanted to do was curl up on the sofa and watch pap on television. But no, not tonight. When I started out on 52 First Dates I told myself I would never cancel a date unless there was bloody good reason, and being a lazy ass bastard wasn't one, so I begrudgingly met Mr #23 just outside Oxford Circus. He wasn't the tallest nor the most attractive of chaps, but he was suitably jolly, and instantly I realised it would be an entertaining evening. We pottered off to a pub of my choosing, commandeered some cheeky vinos and took up pews. Sadly since all of the seats inside were occupied, we had to perch outside under a heater. As he was a smoker with hot Mediterranean blood, he was adamant this was not a problem. But this was a chill to properly test his Italian mettle. And for the next couple of hours he shivered uncontrollably and insisted this was just his passion for the conversation making him shudder like some sort of malfunctioning Flymo. Bullshit sunshine, you're freezing. But you're also polite, so we stuck it out a little more. His Italian accent was pretty thick, so I had to strap on my finest translation ears on to work out the key points of the conversation, but on the whole it was very entertaining and he had an impressive grasp of the common vernacular: we covered the state of kids in London today, what 5 albums you'd take to the moon (we did argue over some and work out that given we were both on the moon at the same time that it would make sense to share some...), his Sardinian heritage (sans Mafia connections), Mike Skinner, the art of making balsamic vinegar, Macs vs PCs, the merits of Pret A Manger and their artisan breads, online piracy, shoes as art and that time his grandma made him over-sized ravioli. Two glasses of wine down I was pretty sure I should head off home, but we were having a pleasant enough evening so I persuaded to had a third. We were both getting a bit squiffy, and after the third had been demolished, I was determined to head off to the bus. But not without an Italian escort skipping along beside me. Once waiting for the bus, he took the moment to slip me a rather grotesque Sambucca-flavoured chewing gum before then slipping me the tongue. What can I say, I was tipsy, and it wasn't horrific. At first. And then the bus came, and I tried to free my mouth enough to say my swift goodbyes. But he was rather more limpet-like than I expected and I missed the bloody bus. So then I was resigned to huddling up against John Lewis out of the bitterly cold with a man with an over-enthused tongue until the next bus came along. And ten minutes later, after having my mouth suitable routed,the bus arrived and I was blissfully able cut short his oral excavations and escape.

Memorable Quotes:
'I have grown to rather like the English Piccalilli. It is Kryptonite-like in colour'

'Last year I was jogging in Stockwell and ten black youths stopped me. I knew I was going to be mugged. They asked what I was listening to on my iPod. I said NWA. They just nodded and let me go.'

Him to me: 'I think you may have hands bigger than mine. Yes, you have!'

Events of note:
The admission that this fully grown man collected Playmobile. But not jut any Playmobile. Oh no. That would be silly. Only cops and robbers Playmobile. He is so empassioned by this particular genre of Playmobile that he even travelled to Malta, the country of its origin, to pick some up.

The verdict:
Considering how much I was dreading this evening for selfish reasons, I had a surprisingly enjoyable time. He was bright, he was funny, he had loads of interests. But despite all thee things, I just didn't really fancy him. And I'm not really sure why not. He wasn't unattractive, he had plenty to say for himself, but there just wasn't that funny little something there that would make me want to stare at my phone willing it to vibrate. And perhaps that he still collected little plastic figurines with interchangeable hairdos from my youth had something to do with it. Or the fact that yet again he had hands smaller than mine (what is it with me and my giant man hands? Who'd have thought this would be such a frequent deal-breaker?). Whatever it is, but I'm left massively unsure about the whole thing. He has asked to meet again, and I think under most other circumstances I would have said yes. But I think the fact that I would almost definitely be held tongue-hostage for most of the evening has made me less confident in agreeing. Oh balls.

15 comments:

  1. Another one bites the dust! Good luck with the next x

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  2. Thanks for this blog -I love it and find it incredibly funny. Your post made me glad to be middle aged and happily married, so thanks for this. Good luck for the next date...

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  3. Thank very much MuMuGB - really glad you're enjoying it. And well done for taking yourself off the market before the advent of internet dating...!

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  4. Hilair! Aw bless, he sounds like he can hold a conversation at least - shame he's not exactly an Italian Stallion!

    PS, font change? I likes it!

    Rx

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  5. Ah thanks lady, I do rather like my new font. Mainly because it's called Sue Ellen something.

    Yeah, shame he wasn't a Mediterranean hottie. But such is my luck, at least he had plenty to talk about...including his hobbies...!

    CTS x

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  6. I'm going to show this blog to my friends who berate me for being too 'picky' - they can't understand why, if I've had a nice evening with someone, I'm not queuing up to marry them! You're totally right, you can get on with someone, even kiss them, and still you're a bit 'meh'. I had a date this week with a guy and it was balancing on the edge of being good or mediocre - then we kissed. Ew. Kisses are supposed to make you feel good, not a bit grossed out. And it was such a shame!! But I can't force myself to like someone, can I? Le sigh.

    Good luck with the next one. Where are you finding all these fine male specimens? x

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  7. Thanks for your comment Single Girl, I'm finding all of these gentlemen online, natch. I get b erated an awful lot for not wanting to see thee guys a second time, and it's not because I've instantly ruled them out as marriage material, it's because I just feel a connection there that makes me want to see them again. And I don't really think it's fair to see someone again when I know that I won't want to see them a third time. Sounds very picky, and I suppose it is. But I can't help it! CTS x

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  8. You are loony! A complete basketcase, and the reason men get so annoyed with women these days. You weren't interested, yet you kissed him. You write about it like you didn't enjoy it but you missed your bus and kept kissing him for ten more minutes.
    He's going to tell his friends you had a great conversation, you liked him enough to kiss him repeatedly and no reason why you won't see each other again. After you reject him,his friends will describe you with a whole different set of words, and they will all be justified. You are dishonest, a tease, a jerk and a bitch for acting the way you described. If you don't like someone, say so! Poor guy will probably take out his hurt feelings on some future woman who doesn't deserve it.
    Max
    P.S. collecting toys is cool. Better than the hordes of women who collect unicorns, shoes or watch Twilight.

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  9. Thanks for your comment Max. Clearly you've never been fortunate for somoene to forcefully slip you the tongue, especialy judging by how you like to use it. Well I have, and sometimes it's less awkward for to take the hit, and politely decline further offers afterwards. Which is what I did, and he was incredibly sweet about it.

    CTS

    PS. Nothing like a constructive bit of sexism eh? Well in case you were wondering, I own only 7 pair of shoes, have never read or watched Twilight, and I am grown up enough to know that unicorns don't exist and don't warrant unicorn-related memorabilia.

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  10. Frankly 'anonymous' (really brave of you to post your name and a way to reply to you by the way), you are what we in the know would call; a knob.

    How dare you judge a person for seeing a less than promising date to the end and giving the guy the benefit of the doubt? CTS stuck it out, had a lovely time and all but didn't feel the need to take it further. Surely it would have been much more horrendous for the guy if she'd stood up at the end of the date and told him to bugger off.

    You need to feck off and play with your little toys darling, go on, you know you want to. Leave the dating game to the grown ups.

    RitziC

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  11. PS:

    I have 35 pairs of shoes, have read Twilight and WHAT is this about Unicorns not existing?

    Sheesh. Someone needs to sort out their priorities.

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  12. Don't you just love it when someone comments on a post as 'anonymous' because they don't have the balls to actually put their name? I think Chicken Shit would make an appropriate name for this troll!

    CTS you are a dating hero, who is not only polite but has enough decency to go through with your dates even if you do get surprise tongue!

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  13. Ritzi, having a unicorn tattooed on your ass doesn't make it real...

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  14. I am 55 years old (really) and am new to the world of dating having been married 33 years! Having joined a dating website some months ago I can honestly say that I am appalled by the little white lies people tell on their profiles! How tall? How old? I have had some great dates and some mind bendingly awful ones! One guy told me if he started bleeding to call an ambulance as he was a hemophiliac! Did he think I was going to stab him!

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  15. New post! Can't wait to hear about last week

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Thanks for reading 52 First Dates! And thanks even more for commenting!

Read some of the emails that didn't make it to the real life date stage...