Raison D'être

I've recently been thinking of how I feel about writing these blog posts. Granted, it is a long time since I last posted, but, I feel like I expose my misfortune for others to laugh at. Sometimes, said misfortune is actually quite painful to go through, and the blogposts are written days after I have cried (usually on the phone to my mum) digested, and become comfortable with exposing these ridiculous stories to whom ever had the time/inclination to read them. So why do I do it?

I broke up with my boyfriend (the reason for my long silence) 5 months ago. We had a tumultuous 10 month relationship that I won't bore you with the intricate (blog worthy) details of, for fear of further enhancing my reputation of being unlucky in love. (But yes, it wasn't great).

Since then, I have been on a string of terrible dates, which I will tell you about, despite that being a direct contradiction of the above statement (that's one for the therapists amongst you to unpick). 

Date one: The Handshaker.

First dates are a veritable minefield of potential awkward moments. For example, the greeting- do you go for one kiss on the cheek or two? You could end up in a premature lip touching moment that would result in red faces and awkward mutterings. Or, who buys the first drink? Being a lady of the 21st century who successfully manages to feed and clothe myself as well as hold down a job, my own flat and a car, I feel it's presumptuous and old fashioned to expect a man to pay for an entire dalliance. However, the words of an ex fling ring loudly in my ears when he told me that I emasculated him by insisting on going halves on a date. No one wants to emasculate someone, or subordinate themselves... Answers on a postcard please!

But this guy, he was just WEIRD. Firstly, he shook my hand upon greeting me. Not the old 'handshake and then draw in for a peck on the cheek' but, a full on, 'I'm here to do business with you' handshake. In an effort to break the ice I pointed out that this was formal, and he seemed unmoved by my plea for a less corporate environment, he was after all wearing a full on suit and tie, in a pub, on Sunday, so he's obviously set the tone in his mind in advance. 

Our date was pleasant, if not a structured affair, a bit like an interview, to which I obviously performed well in, as, after another bone shattering but perfunctory handshake, he asked me out again. 

Date number two, this time in a suit, but with an open shirt collar, after another bloody handshake, he started to open up a bit. He told me his (offensive) views on therapists ('con artists, therapy is unnecessary' me 'well, my mum is a therapist' him 'how does she live with herself?') and opened up about his ex wife stealing all his money (in my head 'perhaps she thought your marriage was just a business transaction and the handshake was a gesture of closing the deal'). 

Meeting number two went well as I got a text from him the following day asking me to meet up again. At this point, I was utterly bored with this guy, and found his challenging my mother's worthy profession offensive, but, I was polite.

Him 'Lovely to see you again last night, would you like to meet up again?'

Me 'so nice of you to think of me, what did you have in mind?'

Him 'would you like to come to synagogue with me on Saturday' 

Me 'well, I have plans in the day, and wouldn't we be sitting separately as men and women'

Him 'oh don't worry there are lots of women you can talk to'

That's just weird behaviour right? Why on earth would I want to spend my Saturday in a strange synagogue, with people I don't know? I have loads of productive things to do, like wash my hair, or watch paint dry, or organise my receipts in date order starting from 1997. 

Date two: wash bag guy.

This man gets the award for being the worst date I've ever been on.

Alarm bells should have rung when he called me the day before our date and told me that he'd been looking through my Instagram photos and would like to advise me that he preferred me with less make up on. Right, probably best not to tell me what to do, because, you know, you're an ass. But, I gave him the benefit of the doubt, despite him informing me that, at the ripe age of 31, he had already gone through not one, but two divorces. 

The date didn't start well. He messaged me 25 minutes before we were meeting to tell me he was going to be an hour late. I was already en route. 

Our initial plan was to meet at Leicester Square station, so I said, ok, where shall I meet you if you're running late. His suggestion should have rung further alarm bells, he said, 'why don't you sit in the casino where its warm'. I'll tell you why, because the only single women sitting, dressed up (I ignored his no make up edict) in a casino on a Saturday night are most likely looking for paying customers. 

I said I'd meet him at the W hotel. An hour later, he turned up, unapologetic, holding onto a wash bag. We walked up to the bouncer to have a drink before dinner, and the bouncer refused us entry. When I asked why, he pointed at my dates shoes, and said they weren't smart enough. This prompted a tirade that I can only liken to a toddlers tantrum. Wash bag guy informed the bouncer that his shoes had cost him £200, and how dare he challenge his dress sense. The bouncer was (unsurprisingly) unmoved. 

I suggested we should go to dinner early, and asked where our reservation was. It was after all Saturday night in soho.. He looked at me nonplussed. I realised that this guy, who had turned up late, holding a godforsaken wash bag hadn't put any thought into our date. 

This prompted a 45 minute walk around soho, in the freezing cold, with his stupid wash bag swinging from his arm. 

We eventually found a place and sat down. At this point my mind was racing with excuses about how to get the hell out of there quickly. I scanned the menu and saw one thing I could eat. He ordered a starter and a main, and (rudely) told the waiter that he was on a diet and therefore would send back any food with salt in it. I was confused, he ordered a caeser salad (average 320 kcal) bread (a slimmers worst enemy) and mozzarella sticks (don't even get me started on fried cheese). I ordered risotto with truffle on top.

He made it known pretty quickly that he wasn't happy with his choice, and asked me if he could try mine. At this point I'd totally given up on caring and said yes. He then, did something that I will find unforgivable until my dying day. He reached over, and picked out some truffle and risotto from my plate WITH HIS HANDS. That is so unacceptable I don't know where to start. He hadn't pulled any antibac out of his wash bag (which was perched on the table the entire meal) so I put down my fork and proclaimed to be full. He was so impressed with my choice that he then ordered his own risotto (NO SALT) and I had to sit and watch him eat that too. He ordered wine (for himself) and dessert. 

So, let's tally this up. He had: wine, risotto, salad, bread and mozzarella sticks, and I had: tap water and half a plate of risotto. So, when he asked me to split the bill with him I kind of lost it. There was no way in hell I was spending my hard earned money on this Neanderthal's dinner. I made my excuses and left, putting down some cash to cover my meagre dinner. I never found out what was in that wash bag.

There have been more, too bland to waste my time writing too much about. There was the guy that informed me that he had his stomach stapled three weeks previously, and told me that I made him insecure that I knew that fact about him (I didn't ask..). Or another guy that told me that he didn't think that we would work out but could I post him my copy of the DVD we were talking about on our date (he sent him the link to buy it on amazon).

This brings me back to why I write these posts. There is the cathartic side of shaping my thoughts and putting them in words, I enjoy writing. There is the entertaining side (my friend aways tells me she'd pay money to read my stories on a regular basis) but none of this solves for what I was talking about at the beginning, why do I expose my misfortune on dates for people to read about? Well, I came to the realisation, whilst sitting on the tube stuck in a tunnel at rush hour (nightmare), that this, is my raison d'être. Somewhere, out there, there are other girls who are also going on crappy dates with douche bags who shake your hand or turn up with a sodding wash bag. So, I want to tell them, you're not alone, it happens to the best of us. My only ask is please, don't go rubbing your smug loved up instaposts in my face when you find the one, ok?