The British media are evil, unforgiving bastards…
Like we don’t already feel sufficiently guilty about the sheer amount of food and alcohol we’ve gorged ourselves with over the last two weeks, but the British media deem it necessary to force us to watch the likes of Martine McCutcheon and The Redknapps *(among various other fit-as-a-fiddle celebrities, who I can only assume never once got home, pissed at 4am pissed on Christmas Eve, only to unwrap and consume the entire box of fancy belgium chocolates they had bought for their boyfriends mum, along with half a tub of Pringles. In one sitting…) flaunting their rock-hard bodies and lack of hangovers all over our screens during every ad-break.
But if it’s not enough to make us all feel depressed, now the nasty fuckers have started to prey on the single.
Subtley slipped in amongst the fad-diets and fitness equipment adverts, we suddenly have an influx of dating websites, targeting the vulnerable single people who are unable to bear facing those god-awful questions at family gatherings about why you’re still “on the shelf” again next year.
So, should you decide to treat yourself to a hotdesperatepeople.co.uk subscription this New Year, I wish you all the best in your dating endevours…
…but, due to the fact that a whole truckload of mutants may well have had the same idea this January, flooding the database with dating-disasters waiting to happen, here are three of my dating disasters – that all happened within 8 months of one another – just to remind you that you’re not alone….
1) The Builder…
Ahhh The Builder; a prime example of why snogging a random person in a club, giving them your number and forgetting the entire night almost immediately never pays off.
For a start, when I agreed to meet him at the cinema I had absolutely no recolection of what he looked like – which put me in a horrifically awkward situation when he turned up twenty minutes late with his two friends.
Sticking around purely based on the fact he was a lot more attractive than I had expected, I soon realised his brains had been replaced by biceps and he was completely devoid of personality. However, the second awkward moment came when I realised he had a wandering eye… causing me to answer a number of his questions that were actually directed towards one of his little minions.
I finally walked out when he left me at a bowling alley bar without a drink, while he went to challenge his friends to a game of pool.
2) The Recovering Alcoholic…
Another example of the dangers of meeting someone in a bar! This started of suprisingly well; we had a few nice phone conversations that eventually led to his asking me for dinner on bonfire night. However, any illusions that I may have had about romance and fireworks were immediately shattered when he turned up half-canned and proceeded to burst into tears over our starter. As he hysterically sobbed into his garlic bread, he told me how he’s fallen off the wagon… only to then disappear into the toilet for 25 minutes, I can only assume to throw up.
3) The Friend…
It’s always a risk to go on a date with a mate, because more often than not it doesn’t work out – so 5 minutes before this one I rang to try and cancel, only for my mother to wrestle the phone off me and force me out the door with the instruction, “don’t stand him up it’ll embarrass him, instead I’ll ring you in ten minutes with an excuse for you to leave” – a promise, of course, she proceeded to break. I don’t know whether he was nervous, or was having second thoughts but he didn’t say a word for the entire half hour train journey to the pictures – except to skit me. Of course already being friends we had covered most small-talk topics, leaving me to ramble on about how I’d just had to bath my dog, what I’d had for dinner and other inane things.
When we finally made it to the cinema and the sweet refuge of a loud film, he decided to finally show some sign that he wanted to be there, in the form of putting his completely straight, rigid arm behind my back, forcing me to sit through the entire two hours sloped forward like the Hunchback of Notre Dame. After arriving home hoarse, mentally exhausted and with a crick in my back I swore to myself that I would never go on a date again.
Five years later and that awkward mate somehow ended up being the same one I mentioned in my last post.
He still skits me, sits like an awkward scarecrow and leaves me to ramble on about the inane details of my day to day life, but somehow it works.
So I guess those dating disasters aren’t ALWAYS pointless.
Happy New Year Hotties, make this a good one!
*For the record, I am in no way complaining about seeing Jamie Redknapp’s body on my television screen every fifteen minutes. In fact, if there was a channel dedicated to Jamie Redknapp emerging from the sea like this I would blog a hell of a lot less.