…And fun with puns…
Hello dear readers, I’m taking a quick break from Infidelity Month this week. Drudging through my emotions of guilt and confusion hasn’t turned out to be the laugh riot I expected it to be… In the interest of keeping my mind and wrists in one piece, this week we will be focusing instead on a date with a single guy. If you can’t wait to return to the happy landscape of mistakes, passion and regret, then go to a Simon and Garfunkel concert, watch Crossroads or do some cheating yourself. -sidenote, I’m not responsible for relationships destroyed by watching Crossroads, take that up with Britney.-
This week’s tale begins innocently enough, I was shopping for some new bedroom bits in Ann Summers. Having found some fun alternatives to boyfriends, I headed over to grab lunch before I went back to work. Luckily where I live walking around with a bag of ‘naughty bits’ isn’t particularly frowned upon. Most people seem to assume that you’ve brought a sexy surprise for your significant other. Sadly that would be impossible in my case, unless Ann Summers just released a perfume called ‘Existential Dread’ which pairs well with an evening of fossilising in front of Netflix (and this week is the cheerful week…)
Predictable millennial complaints about our place in the universe aside -Jesus I need to stop drinking gin-, sex toys weren’t the only thing I bagged that day (get it? It’s funny because I was shopping).
Okay so this doesn’t pertain to the post but can we quickly talk about puns? Personally I LOVE a good pun, if a man has the sharp wit to reverse a sentence on me then I’m impressed. However I’m getting the stark impression that men do not feel the same way, case in point:
I did actually go on to explain why that joke made sense, which only makes it funnier right? I’m honestly worried that I’ve had a stroke and people haven’t noticed because they think I’m being quirky.
Top Tip #131: Pass off personality flaws as celebrity impersonations, maybe I’m humorless and irresponsible or maybe I’ve watched too many Zooey Deschanel films…
Regardless of possible brain trauma, comment below if you think puns are good or poison when it comes to dating. Personally I refuse to change this late into my twenties… I’ll find my knight in shining armour, he might turn out to be cat with low living standards but goddammit we’ll be happy.
-Pun Interlude Over-
Right back to the point, I bumped into a guy I knew (beautify put Sam, you earned that second G&T). In the grand tradition of terrible aliases, we’ll call this guy… Mack, perfect. I met Mack once years ago at a party. I vaguely remember him being there, he clearly remembers me making out with him with all the restraint of someone who drank five tequila shots. Nowadays Mack looks simultaneously youthful and like a recovering alcoholic which is impressive in itself. He has the regular features seen in men I like, an odd nose, fairly tall and crippling self-esteem issues. He does lose marks for constantly looking like he’s battling a hangover, his blonde hair is always slightly unkempt and his stubble just a shade away from intentional.
We met a few days later in what is fast becoming my ‘casual first date cafe’. It’s a beautiful Italian deli which offers coffee, food and cocktails but shuts at ten o’clock. It has the comforts of informal drinks whilst offering alcohol if things are going tits up, like a sofa with a ‘break in case of emergency’ vodka hidden inside. Plus it shuts early enough for me to get home and not fucked, literally and physically *wink*.
Top Tip #26: Leave a first date at a reasonable hour, this excludes ANY time ending in a.m.
The coffee went surprisingly well, we’re both fairly sarcastic and enjoyed laughing about how twisted dating had become. Simultaneously I kept remembering that I’d built a fail-safe into our date in case things did go badly, so yes, dating is pretty weird nowadays. As for the fail-safe, and this people is actual dating advice for once, I’d made plans to see some friends later that evening. This works surprisingly well, if a date is dragging then at least you have that ‘hard stop’ when you absolutely have to leave. If things are going tremendously then you have a definite end point so you don’t end up Hindenburg-ing the night trying to find a natural stopping point.
The date did take a turn for the worse even with my ingenious escape plan in place. Mack had low self-esteem which is usually something I gravitate towards, like a planet towards a particularly needy star. Mack’s issues however had calcified with age (there’s a lot of fossil metaphors this week…), he would look at a fun party and convince himself that drinks at home is more inviting. He has grown used to his insecurities and developed fantasies which allow him to remain happy. This dear readers was the first glimpse of the dark iceberg heading towards our doomed maiden date… His age.
Younger men would have gone to that party, felt isolated and left deflated. More problematic men would have got terrifyingly drunk and spent the next week relieving shameful flashbacks in the full throes of alconoia.
Alconoia: The vague sense of paranoia felt after drinking alcohol which looks powerful enough to clean up Tara Reid’s reputation
Older men however don’t bother going, ‘they’re past their prime’, ‘its much more fun with the lads at home’ or ‘It’s not worth the hassle getting there and back again’. This came to a head when I mentioned it was my Mum’s birthday soon. Mack innocently asked how old she was turning and BAM the date got a tranquilizer dart to the face.
Mack quickly worked out that the age gap between him and I was over double that of him and my mum… In fairness he recovered quickly, but in that moment I saw the date die. Personally I’m not happy introducing my mum to my (possible) boyfriend/her old school friend. I’m always up to have sex with an older guy but it’s not something I want in a relationship. It’s like clothes, its great to wear a vintage jacket to a party, but if you walk around in period pieces all the time then people assume you’re insane.
The date ended soon after, being a modern twenty-five year old, I offered to pay for the meal. This was partly because up until the carbon-dating reveal I did genuinely enjoy myself (maybe it’s just a general geography theme to my metaphors this week?). Another larger part of me wanted to make sure it didn’t look like my dad was taking me out for dinner… I gave him a hug and we parted ways. We agreed to meet up again soon, mostly because despite being independent I actually want him to buy me a dinner back, I know that bitch has a savings account. Personally I don’t think this is going to happen. I’ve inadvertently given to the ‘Help the Aged’ charity, because much like Casper, Mack is starting to disappear on me.
That’s all for this week readers! One date tragically killed before its time, with hopes of a shitty sequel if all goes to plan. As I said next week we will return to the depressing world of cheating, this was just a little island of geriatric fun in the sea of broken relationships, lies and drunken sex. Yay.
Cigarettes: Winter is the natural enemy to many, trees, the homeless but especially the smoker, which is giving my lungs a break.
Diet: I’ve been living off buttered wraps and diet bars which isn’t healthy but certainly effective, like liposuction…. or napalm.
Dates: Well currently this stands at one, but I’ll go to the depths of hell to pull Mack back and get a £60 date back off him, so one real one and one bailiff appointment over wine.