After several months of hoping that I meet someone (so I have something to write about, rather than have a fulfilling mature relationship,) I find that it annoyingly feels rather inappropriate to write about it. I never expected to find someone that I actually liked, damned inconvenient really.
I can however, write about how stupid women are when they prepare for a date; one minute I am a seemingly normal individual, and the next I am running around like a demented virgin.
Despite knowing that I won’t be inviting anyone back to my place, I spend hours shaving, plucking, tanning and all manner of other things that end in ‘ing.’ At the end of it, I was undecided whether I looked better or worse for all my efforts. I know I had one eyebrow that was slightly thinner than the other one. I was more worried about my date asking me whether I had contracted some kind of liver disease, as my skin was now a tad on the yellow side. It was not my fault, I had chosen the least scary looking bottle of fake tan called ‘Holiday Skin.’ I thought I would end up looking like I had been to Seville, not the centre of the earth.
It also appeared that I was going to be spending the rest of the evening, trying to hide the fact that Stevie Wonder had painted my finger nails… on a bad day. There were splashes of ‘Malaga Wine’ up and down not only my fingers, but on my ear and my left arm. I wished I could be as creative in kitchen…the bedroom obviously is out of the question.
By the time I make it to the bar, I was so nervous that I had to check my driver’s license to remind me what my name is. I suspected that I would make an awfully bad impression if I couldn’t answer that question at least.
I of course had a million questions to ask, but I had decided not to ask most of them. I had a feeling that asking a man ‘what do you earn?’ and ‘do you want children?’ are not questions that bring a man back for more. Which is silly really, as these question are far more important that the benign ‘so do you like your job?’
Despite my nerves, I managed not to get drunk; there is nothing less attractive than a 34 year woman dragging a man to karaoke, so she can sing ‘Like a virgin.’ Instead I decided to take up the challenge of proving that I can list all The Beatles albums in chronological order. And yet, I had a phone call several minutes after the date ended, asking if I wanted to go out again. It really is astonishing what a man is prepared to overlook in pursuit of a shag…I also suspected this one was happily colour blind. This will bode well for our relationship.