I have a few matches on Tinder (2,487 matches) so the majority get lost in the noise (continual right swipes – someone hold me). However this one caught my attention by using a nickname I hadn’t hear in over 10 years; “Underhood” – a hilarious (it wasn’t funny) tale when I’d gone on holiday with the girls and we all decided to get matching hoodies. I was worried my surname wouldn’t be visible with the hood – so gave the manufacturers some specific instructions “please put Bowie under the hood” and he did this
He mentioned he knew a friend from my home town hence his knowledge of “Underhood”- I spoke to said friend; “Yeah. He’s a really nice guy” – “great” (-“leave him alone”).
So (I ignored my friend) we met up for a drink in my bar of choice (Adventure bar) the name sounded exciting (the drinks were cheap and diluted) but it was ok – my date was driving (let the fun times dissolve).
I continued downing my drink of choice (“white wine – really large”) and made our way to the next bar – making idle conversation (“what do you think of me?” – “you’re frosty and sarcastic”). We took our seats (and I added stalker to my list of qualities) I mentioned my mother had recently discovered my blog – he’d recently become friends with his own on Facebook “that’s ok – you’ve got nothing embarrassing on there” (“how do you know that” – “good guess? WAITER WINE”)
Two days later (I’d tidied my room, lit a scented a candle and decided I wanted to show off my work) the second date was scheduled (persistence beats resistance). It was quite late (it was 11pm) but he seemed excited to see me again (“you better have good chat this time” – charmer), and who is to deny spontaneity (anyone who understands the concept of a “booty call”).
He arrived (at 11.30pm) but seemed preoccupied – I asked if everything was ok? (I leaned over his shoulder and read his messages) “Why are you messaging me?” – “This is a different Debbie. What is that smell?!” – he seemed really busy so I left him (to continue messaging “Debbie – Happn” and blew out my scented candle which definitely did not smell like “angel wings”).
We watched a film (The Break-up – optimistic) it wasn’t the best evening (him yelling at the screen “Jennifer Anniston in her prime!” “I think I like her more than you”). I asked (in an attempt to stop the random outbursts of “she’s so fucking hot”) if he’d have the courage to approach someone who was already out on a date (“yeah – I’m pretty ballsy”- lush).
He tried to initiate some romance (“There is so much padding in my bra I can’t feel anything you are doing”) then he kissed my tummy (which responded with a large grumble that sounded like trapped wind).
The rest of the evening (post “I swear that wasn’t a fart”) we discussed his photography career (“could you take some photographs of me?”) “I don’t do glamour shots” (“I meant a nice one”) “no seriously boobs are tacky” (great – “what times your taxi?”) he seemed disheartened ( for someone so ‘ballsy’ ;“do you honestly think this is going well?!”) and he left.
I got ready for bed and chatted to my housemate (“Christ that couldn’t have gone much worse”) she looked at me with pity (“Debs have you looked in the mirror”) my date hadn’t mentioned the lump of lip gloss that was stuck in between my two front teeth, stained by red wine – “it’s not that bad, Debs” (“on a scale of 1 to Count Dracula, Laura – I fall pretty high!”).
He didn’t message (balls probably got in the way). I wasn’t expecting him to (but apparently my pocket was – 30 minutes of phone calls to his number and silent voicemails) I sent my apologies.
(Still waiting for his forgiveness).