The iconic British sport of table tennis, a date to highlight both your competitive side and skills with a bat and ball…
I’d met the date through Tinder.
And lost immediate interest when he opened with…
“Hi Debbie – how are you”
So spent the following month ignoring this enquiry and focusing on more promising males:
Then I received a phone call from a friend:
“Debbie! Are you going on a date with Stephanos?!”
“You matched with him on Tinder? He’s friends with my work colleague!”
“I dunno babe…”
“Debbie, apparently he has a massive dic-”
“Hey Stephanos! Sorry for not being in touch, been mad busy…”
And so continued the exhilarating (exhausting) conversation.
“That’s ok. How are you?”
I ploughed on and attempted to add some swagger to the conversation:
“Debbie, I don’t like your memes.”
And after discovering we had absolutely nothing in common and opposite humours…
The chosen activity was table tennis. The day before, the conversation was filled with fighting talk – sizing eachother up (really fucking each other off):
“Debbie, we could get drinks before – it might improve your chances of winning if you ply me with alcohol.”
“Do you have a gallery of these things?”
“Right see you tomorrow.”
I arrived at Bounce! at 7pm – and greeted my opponent (date).
The table wasn’t booked till 7:30, so we got some drinks at the bar and chatted (which went as expected):
“Stephanos, that’s quite an exotic name – where is your family from?”
“I’m half polish, half Italian – got some Irish in me. But I’ve lived in England all my life, you?”
“I’m just English.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty normal.”
Waiter: “Hi guys – your table’s ready early, do you wanna go now-”
“Now is perfect.”
The room was filled with other groups playing leisurely games of ping pong, enjoying after work socials and birthday parties.
And then there was our table…
“Debbie your serve’s pretty weak.”
“Bit like your chat…”
This continued for a while, only stopping when I lost my favourite ball and chased it round the building before continuing:
“Just leave it, there are loads of balls?!”
“NO! This one is special!”
Then he really raised the stakes:
“Debbie, you are actually pretty good…”
“For a girl.”
“Right, let’s make this interesting – first to 21?”
And so it began:
The game remained close, but as it approached the end I could feel the pressure building, every time I’d miss a shot words would erupt from my mouth:
The score was 20-19 (to him) and it was his turn to serve…
“How does it feel Debbie?”
“How does what feel?”
And with that, something inside me ignited; anger was released, words were shared, and comments made which were unthinkable and barbaric.
“I’m gonna make you wish you had a one way ticket back to wherever the fuck you came from Stephanos!”
“Of course you are…”
The final rally began. My hands were shaking, his serve was quick – but I managed to scarper to the net with a back hand slice but then…
Out of nowhere…
And reacted accordingly.
(We left shortly after.)
“Sorry about that whole ‘wall thing’… guessing you don’t wanna, I dunno…”
“…See each other again?”
“I’m going to Columbia next week but will give you a text when I’m back.”
I returned home and was greeted by my housemate:
“So how was it?!”
“Guessing there isn’t a second date then?”
“Course there is!”
Cost: Free (with minor bash on the ego).
2 weeks later…
“Can’t make tonight Debbie. I’ve come down with Columbian flu.”
I told my housemate:
“Haha he’s totally made that up!”
“I know – but I get it.”
“What do you get?! He obviously just doesn’t want to see you again Debbie.”
“No Laura – he’s scared.”
“I DON’T THINK SO DEB-”
Just because someone has a massive penis, does not mean they will have the balls to match.
5 out of 10.