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 a year, that's 52 dates in 52 weeks.

2. Taking someone home after a drunken night on the cider does NOT count.

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.

19 October 2011

Mr #18 - Who's Your Daddy?

The preamble:
Mr #18 and I had experienced the very briefest of email exchanges over a month or so ago. I have to say, I thought he was a bit of a pest. His technique of trying to get my attention was to randomly bombard me with messages when I'd not even had time to reply calling me such names as 'stinky poo face'. Quite why I actually gave him my number is still beyond me, because quite frankly, he was really rather annoying. And I was pretty convinced before meeting him that he would be duller than dish water's wit. That said, I'm glad I did agree to meet him, because boy did he prove me wrong...

The man:
Age: 30
Profession: Currently unemployed
Random factoid: Was expelled by school after a catalogue of adolescent errors including refusing to bring stationary to school, setting up his own book-maker's and employing the school bullies to do his bidding, giving himself a very serious fictional disease and threatening to piss on a teacher. You couldn't make this shit up...

The date:
I met the illustrious Mr #18 in Covent Garden. He was 20 minutes late. I was contemplating calling it a day, until a quiet little voice whispered the immortal words 'stinky poo face' in my ea and I knew my date had arrived. 

My first thoughts how short you are, my what tiny child-like hands you have and dear lord, are you sure you're interested in girls??? My initial concern is something that later to be enforced by quite the most bizarre thing anyone has ever said to me on a date. But more about that later, stick with me, it's worth it. 

He had also arrived in the freezing October evening in just a t-shirt, and although he insisted he didn't feel any of the cold, his nipples spoke otherwise. We pottered off to the nearest pub, procured a pair of pints, and the interrogation began. 

It was hard not to keep my eyes off Mr #18#s dinky hands, as throughout the entire course of the date he just couldn't leave himself alone...scratching his arms, lifting his t-shirt, and conducting some sort of fruitful excavation of his ear which was really rather distracting. 

It rapidly occurred to me that I had been so preoccupied by his infernal childish nagging for a date, that I knew absolutely bugger all about him. So I asked. And what  got was nothing short of extraordinary. You will have already read about his school days, a lengthy anecdote that literally had me weeping. For such a quaint, quiet, camp chap, he clearly was quite the criminal mastermind. Not only had he concocted a very serious illness to get out of school, he'd also later done the same to get out of a job. He'd also bought a motorbike aged 15 and decided to run away from home. 5 miles into his great escape, he was picked up by the police for not wearing a helmet. 

Aside from his outpourings as a felon, we covered sharks, racism, Family Guy and a rather embarrassing observation he'd made about the fact that on my dating profile, I seem incapable of doing a nice face. And it's true, I AM incapable of doing a nice face. 

He referred to himself on no less than three occasions as a 'hunk', with a finely-tuned sense of irony and a laugh that was a text book comedy 'tee hee'. He knew all the words to the Lion Man theme tune, a talent he demonstrated not once, but twice and also confessed to having an ongoing bladder problem, which I can retrospectively verify, as he went to the toilet five times over the course of our 2 hour date.

It soon came time for me to call it a night, despite him insisting we went for another, but I just couldn't cope with laughing at this bizarre boy any more. We said a cheery goodbye, and I chuckled all the way to the station. And this is why...

Memorable Quotes:
Mr #18: 'So you're a forces child are you?'
Me: 'Yes, my dad was a fighter pilot'
'Are you being serious?'
'Is he single?'
'Is he single? I think I might love him'
'Er, no he's not'
'Do you think he'd go for someone like me?'
'Maybe. You do look a lot like my mother...'

This may all be very funny now, but this went on sporadically all night. I've never had to feel protective over a parent in such a way before, so tonight was a real eye-opening first.

Events of note:
Mr #18 recreating the famous 'you can be my wingman anytime' scene from Top Gun, inserting both his name and my father's instead of Maverick and Ice Man...

The verdict:
Mr #18, I am absolutely convinced, is some sort of comedy genius, whether he knows it or not. But his tiny child hands, his frightening nipples, his camp demeanour and the fact that I am now adamant that he would only be using me to get to my father are reasons enough that I don't think I will be pursuing our relationship any further. But genuinely, I have not chuckled so much on a date in a long time as I have tonight, so for that, in an unintentional way, thank you.

Since writing this blog entry, I've informed my father of Mr #18's interest, to which he replied 'he obviously has exceptional taste. Perhaps I should meet him'. My mother has also given her blessing on this peculiar union. I shall of course keep you posted. I, however, may have done a little sick in my mouth...