Clearly some people didn’t get the “first impressions count” memo.
We shall call the guy in question, Nick, as his real name began with the same initial and I’m far too kind to truly name and shame said culprit- be grateful, Nick!
For starters Nick arrived fifteen minutes late. Not cool, but these things happen. I expected him to come rolling in with a handful of excuses and plenty of apologies. But no. He waltzed in breezily as if he were five minutes early. But you weren’t, Nick. Jeans and a navy blue polo shit were his outfit of choice. Lovely for a day out to a theme park- for a date?! Ohhh come on Nick, you can do better. Ultimately though, the outfit was forgiveable. What was NOT forgiveable was the cap that you had placed neatly on your head. WHAT went through your mind as you thought “Ohhh, cap or no cap today?!” I cannot even begin to imagine.
When you sat down and introduced yourself I did my best to turn a blind eye to the headwear. I really did Nick, I am not an impolite girl. But, well, it was too much. I could not be seen here dressed in my heels and pretty dress with a guy wearing a cap.
So, awkwardly I asked you to take it off. Looking back, I realise it was far more awkward than it felt at the time, but I consider it a necessary hurdle. You were flustered, Nick, and made some awkward comment about the beginnings of a receded hairline. I felt mean, I did, but we had come this far and, in all honesty, I would rather sit staring at your bald head than this Nike chav cap. You removed it.
The receded hairline was negligible- one of those little hook ups that people have about their bodies that NOBODY else notices. Except, now I was noticing, I was looking out for it because you drew it to my attention, Nick.
With hindsight I realise this was cruel. It was like you making me remove my big “suck in” pants irrespective of my protestation about having a bit of a belly and undesirable love handles.
But, the cap was always going to be a bad move, Nick.
Then there was the conversation. It was a struggle wasn’t it?! I tried. Credit where it’s due, you tried too. We were just on different pages. I asked your favourite films, what you liked to eat and about your job. Out of politeness you asked me all the same questions and then asked me what my favourite colour was and about any previous boyfriends. The colour question would have been acceptable if we were six. As for the interrogation about my previous lovers; really Nick!?!
So we kind of fumbled through the date. You asked if I wanted a drink and when I said yes, you went ahead and ordered me a glass of white wine. Now, I’m partial to the odd glass of wine, but what happened to choice, Nick? What if I fancied a vodka and cranberry or even just a glass of coke? But, thank you for paying, I suppose you aren’t all bad.
Anyway, we continued with the date. I had a longer than was necessary break in the restrooms. I texted my cupid-playing friend to tell her she was now number one on my hit list and I retouched my makeup as I was clearly having to make the effort for the both of us.
We left and you
suggested insisted that we took a walk around the field. Had it been a beach or a reservoir or even just a park, I would have been more inclined to agree. It was a field. I could do this at home, by myself, without the offensive cap (which, Nick, you tried to put on again until I refused it a second time- WHY aren’t you learning?!)
So, on this cold British evening we strolled around the field. I sensed that you felt you were being really sweet and romantic with this suggestion. You weren’t. I despair at mankind if you think you were.
When we were at the other side of the field- very sneaky; trapping me! You asked if you could kiss me. It came as a surprise. It would have been a no had you not brought me all the way out to the back of the bloody field. If I said no now, I would have one hell of an awkward walk back! So, I obliged politely and went to peck you on the lips. You don’t do things by halves though and you went diving in with your tongue. Yummm. Not ideal, but I could hack it. Until, out of the blue, in the middle of the field, you decided to VERY unexpectedly slip a hand under my skirt and into my knickers!
Game on, you thought. GAME OVER, was my response, as I pushed you off me. Nick, that is NOT how you treat a lady. No, No, No. Go back to the boardroom!
The walk back was an awkward one. I should have just said no to the kiss and been done with it. Or, no to the field walk. Or, better still, no to my meddling friend.