#3 The Rugby Lad

Where we met: Facebook – People you may know (it’s a dark place).

Attraction: 12387804_10209035246384539_866325235_n

 

He seemed keen to meet up (he liked every picture of me in a bikini) and commented on a few photos (“face: 5/10 – norks: 11”).

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We decided to go to the cinema (no conversation necessary) and as the date approached he continued to serenade (commenting on more pictures: “You better have home insurance – because I’m gonna smash your back doors in”).

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We decided on the film; The Hunger Games.
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And he collected me in his car:

“Sorry for the mess – just sit on it”.

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We chatted about our mutual friend (“I took his sisters virginity” – “great”) and then I asked about his rugby career (“me and the lads had a party the other night and Jodie Marsh was there. We tag teamed her” – “even better”).

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We arrived at the cinema (an hour early I forgot to check the times) so my date decided to get some snacks (“I’ll have a large everything, you aren’t having any of this.”) walked to the screen and my date, all 6ft 7 bulging muscle, tripped and fell up the stairs.
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I asked if he was ok.

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(“Serves you right you ginger cunt. Now no one has snacks”). We took our seats in the screen (still crying as the cinema attendants put out caution cones around the spilt pint of pepsi).

“It wasn’t that funny”
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By this point we had well and truly realised we didn’t have much (anything) in common so to fill the time we played on our phones (he showed me snapchats of girls’ vaginas: “haha look at this one?!”).
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The film (an hour later) came on (“NO. My vagina does not look like that, please turn your phone off now.”) and Jennifer Lawrence graced our screens. (“She’s a sort isn’t she” – “Yes. She is really pretty”) And he showed his appreciation (he began shouting to the whole cinema “YOU ARE SO FIT! PEETA YOU DON’T DESERVE HER YOU LITTLE RUNT!”

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“Oh shhh…everyones thinking it.”

“YES. But you’re the only one yelling it.“


The film finished and my date gave (I didn’t ask) his review. (“I’d chop Jennifer Lawrence up like cheap winter fuel”…)
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We made our way to the car (“do you wanna get a drink or something?” – “absolutely not”) and we drove back to mine and shared some more really enjoyable conversation (“If we win the league I’m probably going to bang 8 prostitutes next weekend”).

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When we arrived back at my flat I got out the car (so did he: “What are you doing?” – “Can I come in for a drink?”).

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I spoke to our mutual friend the following day (“I can’t believe you set me up with that“) and explained it was unlikely we would see each other again (“Oh it can’t have been that bad” – HE WAS SHOWING ME SNAPCHATS OF GIRLS TOUCHING THEMSELVES” – “Haha. What a Lad”).

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