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 January 2012

Mr #32 - First Impression Backtrack

The preamble:
Mr #32 claimed to be very new to the whole online dating malarkey, so was pretty upfront about about asking for my number...
'Hello. You're hot. Would you like to go for a drink with me?'
Well, if you put it like that, alright then. So I whizzed him my number and we arranged a date without knowing an awful lot about him. What then ensued was some rather bizarre texting etiquette. 

I have to say from previous experience, I normally try to limit the amount of texting before a date, as sometimes it turns out they just want some girl to message late at night or when they're bored, and sometimes hopes on either or both sides get built up out of all proportion. Mr #32's technique was somewhat more unconventional. He'd message a lot, and berate me for not wanting to engage in lengthy text banter. He'd also call me 'love' a lot, which is a proper pet peeve of mine, and I did have to pull him up on it as it was getting close to jeopardising the date. His idea of humour, was also incredibly questionable. 

An example:
Mr #32: So are we going to get pissed on Saturday then?
Me: I'm not sure about that, I don't like to get drunk on first dates... (not I didn't say 'I never')
Mr #32: Oh, we're going on a first date are we? Better wash my willy then
Me: *silence*

He'd also told me I would definitely fall in love with him, and would frequently text late at night complaining that he couldn't sleep LOL, another pet peeze of mine. If you need to write LOL at the end of something, it's clearly not funny in the first place. He'd also texted to warn me that his teeth weren't perfect, not goofy, but not perfect. He'd been systematically doing his utmost to give him possibly the worst first impression before I'd met him, but because I'd already committed, I went  ahead with it anyway. But I was not looking forward to it...

The man:
Age: 28
Profession: Works in finance
Random factoid: Once walked past Jimmy Corkhill from Brookside in the street.

The date:
I was absolutely dreading this date. I actually considered bottling it on the day, but since he was already in London for the football and was going to hang around to see me, I just couldn't do it. So I met him.

We met outside Covent Garden tube. I'll be honest, he wasn't very attractive. He was very tall, and was awkwardly bulky, although not fat. His teeth were in a little disarray but nothing major, but his face was covered almost entirely with what looked like shaving rash, even his forehead. His hair was gelled upwards into what I can only describe as a point, like a hairy little drawing pin. He also had tucked his rather baggy jeans into his boots in some sort of All Saints-esque apery, which to be honest he wasn't pulling off. Truth be told I was already thinking about a possible exit strategy in the event this was as bad as I thought it'd be. 

We ambled off to a pub of my choosing, settled in a well-lit corner, and set to with a date. I have to hold my hands up right now and say I think this is probably one of the biggest turnarounds from first impressions I had ever done. Turns out, he's really rather funny. REALLY funny. We covered work, the decline of ginger people, Youtube clips, Latin, Ethiopian cuisine, Mika, Tupperware, his Chinese flatmate and Blue Peter. 

We also had an awful lot in common - same taste in music, film and we both share a love of all things German. He also was pretty outspoken about how he felt about me, and kept talking about how he liked my hair and eyes, and when he found out that I baked asked me to marry him flat out. It was very amusing and rather sweet, if a little embarrassing as I'm not used to that sort of complimenting on dates.

Before we knew it, we were both giggly and tipsy, it was time at the bar and the pub was shutting up shop. So we headed off to the bus stop, said our goodbyes, and scampered off in opposite directions.

Memorable Quotes:
On leaving to go to the loo for the first time: 'there's a Snickers in my jacket pocket. I know it's there. Steal it, and I will hunt you down...'
'I once went to see Christina Aguilera at Wembley.'

Events of note:
Every time I went to the bar, he'd disappear off to the loo without saying a word. He was like the Dungeon Master, only three times the size and without the dubious hairdo. And the little Spanish barman in the background trying to catch my attention with his bar juggling skills.

The Verdict:
This genuinely was a revelatory date. Never before have I had such a poor impression of a guy before meeting him, and never before have they totally turned it around, and then some. Personality-wise, he was spot on - he was funny and irreverent enough for my taste, we liked loads of the same things and I had a really enjoyable evening with him. The only downside is there was just absolutely zero physical attraction there from my side, and I mean not even a glimmer, which is just such a crying shame as he was awesome company. I know they say attraction is about the whole package, but this one I just couldn't get past the wrapping.