Oh, well in that case...
Anyway, on to the actual dates. My first one was with a guy who seemed perfectly nice and normal. We'd been messaging on the site for a few days, then moved onto emails, and when he asked me out for the following Friday, I said yes. I'm not going to lie, I was absolutely terrified, but hey, it had to be done, right? So off I toddled to a bar on Pembroke St. to meet him.
5' 11". That was the height on his profile. Now, your correspondent is about 5' 7" in her bare feet and loves her hee-highlers. Height, as shallow as it sounds, is a factor for me in choosing potential dates. But 5' 11" ? Grand. We'd be about the same height with me in heels. No problem there. So I'm standing at the bar in Matt the Threshers and in walks my company for the evening. My heart starts to sink. I'm desperately clinging to a "these cows are small, those cows are far away" maybe-it's-just-the-perspective mantra in my mind, but I know it's futile. Matt the Threshers isn't that bloody big. Up he saunters, says hello, kisses my cheek. I'm towering over him. He buys me a drink. I'm already mentally sending the "Peanuts!" message to my friend A, which is our code word for "get me the flock out of here". Not the best way to start a date. He had no-one to blame but himself, though. I mean, seriously, did he actually think I wasn't going to notice that he had blatantly lied about his height? Or did he just think I'd be so dazzled by his personality that I wouldn't notice he was approximately the same size as Michael D. Higgins? Needless to say, he didn't get a second date. And I now mentally knock at least two inches off everyone's height on my site. Which is a bit worrying when people have themselves listed at 5' 5" in the first place...
Then there are the people who use photos of themselves that are, shall we say, of the vintage variety. Apparently women are the worst cuplrits for this, but I got caught out by one of the male perpetrators on my third date from the site. I met this guy on a Sunday afternoon when I was in town anyway. He drove in specifically to meet me, and rang me when he arrived. "Where will I meet you?" says I. "Ah sure just jump in the car and we'll go for a spin," says he. "I think not, I don't know you from Adam," says I, wondering if there are actually women out there who are stupid enough to get into a car for a drive with a complete stranger. So we agree to go to the Old Stand for a drink. I arrive. My heart once again sinks. He is at least 3 stone scrawnier than his profile picture. He has a massive scar running from his left ear to his mouth that was also conspicuously absent from his said picture. He bears an uncanny resemblance to Roland the Rat. He has also, through the magic of online communication, managed to disguise the fact that he's a total knackbag. "Jaaaaaayziz, dis place is veddy fancy, wha?" was his opinion of the Old Stand. I repeat, the Old Stand. I learned two valuable lessons from this particular bloke:
1. Never trust a profile that only has one photo on it. Everyone has one photo where the planets all aligned and the fates conspired to make them look good. If you come across a profile with only one photo up, it's that one.
2. Always, always, always speak to your prospective date on the phone before you meet them. I could have saved myself a whole hour of my life if I'd spoken to this guy before arranging the date.
I could not get out of there fast enough. Necked my beer, checked my watch and was like "Oh, look at the time, must run, work in the morning and all that..." He insisted on walking me out, then tried to give me a lift home. I was like "Oh no it's fine, look, there's a taxi right there. Taxi? TAXI!!!???" all while he's trying to give me a goodnight kiss and I'm practically bent over backwards at the waist trying to avoid it.
He texted me later that evening saying what a great time he had. Clearly his people-reading skills are as rusty as the Stanley blade that gave him that scar. (He claimed it was an airbag in a car accident. Yeah right.) I didn't respond, thinking I'd deal with it in the morning. I was never given that chance. I was woken up the following morning by not one, not two, not three, not four but FIVE unsolicited (and extremely unwelcome) pictures of his todger. Well, I stopped opening them after the second one but seeing as they were all MMSs, it was probably a safe assumption to make. Doubleyou. Tee. Eff??? Needless to say, he went to Ignoresville after that. He did, however, message me online again about a week or so later wondering what he'd done wrong. I kid you not. So, being the kindly soul that I am, I replied and said I just didn't think we had much in common. His response? "Ah yer prolly righ'. I tink you need help though, luv. Not wanting kids? That's just weird."
Yep, ladies and gentleman. This man thinks it's acceptable to carpet-bomb a woman he's met once with willy pictures, and I'm the one who needs help.
Howeyeh, luv!
No recipe today, this post was long enough without one!
