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They say you have to kiss a lot of frogs before you stumble across Prince Charming. Yesterday was another species altogether. As a connoisseur of the hilarity of life (namely, my disastrous attempts at dating), I invite you to walk through last night’s events with me. Join me, if you will, in reliving what has to be one of the finest quality dates I will ever go on (dear god…it can only go up from here?!?!).
4.40p.m. Alright, buckle in. Extrovert me loves meeting new people. But introverted me gets anxious. My mind goes straight away to worse case scenario whereby my love ones will have to locate my dead body because I’ve made friends with a serial killer. So, to potentially avoid a Ted Bundy situation, I investigate him online (okay, stalk but investigate sounds so much more classy).
Key Investigative Points
- At some point in his past, he was a male model (mental high-five, scored);
- Oh no…he was a professional poker player? Is that code for obsessive gambler?
- Messages from him to date have consisted of stickers and emojis…Sigh, will speaking English be problematic?
6.13p.m. I’m sweaty. It’s above 40 degrees outside. I walk five blocks to get to the meet location. I’m a tiny bit late and I hate keeping someone waiting on a first date. I’m also a tiny bit annoyed (tbh…fuming) as I just receive a message from a girl friend that my Casper has appeared on her Happn feed.
6.17p.m. Hrms, he’s late. All good. I love people watching and spot another online meet right in front of me. Male participant goes in for a cheek kiss. Female participant goes for a handshake. Weird dance ensues with an awkward pat on the back ending. Uh oh…that does not bode well for their night. Fingers crossed mine goes a little better.
6.30p.m. I’m face scanning the crowd for any white male that bears a semblance to the profile picture. Sighs…maybe he gained so much weight that he doesn’t look like his photo? Damn, I sure know how to pick them!
6.35p.m. Makes his entrance. Finally. Ah crap…this is not good. Yes, he is one fine looking specimen but damn he’s waltzing in 35 minutes late, no apology and holding a takeaway bag from Maccas! Okay, do not judge Mai…you can do this! You’re bubbly, confident and people generally enjoy your company. O nooooo….he did not even introduce himself? No cheek kiss? No handshake? Not even a ‘Yo, what’s up?’
6.40p.m. It goes absolutely downhill from this point. But I stick it out. It is so horrendous that it becomes exceedingly entertaining. You may ask yourself, why did I stay for the duration of the night? When he’s delivering such golden lines (completely deadpan), how could I not stay and see how much worse it could get? Top 20, key highlights (or lowlights):
- I mention that I find the Sydney social scene a bit cliquish. He proceeds to tell me that he makes it his life’s work to “Penetrate cliques”. He proceeds to spend the entire night trying to drop “penetrate” into the conversation numerous times.
- Stares deeply into my eyes “I bet you had a happy childhood…your parents are still together and they love you”
- “My mate Jono, I call him the Fobinator, he loves banging Asian girls. Though you’re not his type. He loves international Asian girls. You don’t sound international”
- “I am an emotionless robot. My parents had an unhappy marriage. Dad died when I was four”
- “I met a girl off Tinder before and she lent me $1,400. I also have a key to her apartment”
- “My mate Matt, he bangs chicks in disabled toilets. But just to be clear, I have never made a girl cream in a disabled toilet before”
- “I’m a feminist”
- Whips out his phone to go through his photos, when I mention that one of his profile photos made him look fat. “Which one do you think I look fat in? O that one? Let me delete. There’s only 183 likes. That’s probably my lowest.”
- I duck into the bathroom and text the following message to a friend:
- “What’s your lay count. I’m going to say low.”
- “I think my count is up to 311. I’m embarrassed because anyone with that high a number must have a screwed up childhood”
- “You checked me out online didn’t you? You know I had cancer. I had cancer but there were no pity f**ks”
- Turns to me at the bar, proceeds to wedge my legs between his manspreading and delivers…“I’m actually really bad in bed”
- I almost fall off my chair laughing. This is better than a rom-com of bad dates. I should star in one.
- “I’m a narcissist. You should bang me for the story” Yup, buddy you are. Nope. Not going there. Ever. You’re probably carrying an undetermined number of diseases.
- “What base do you go to on a first date?” Dude…no base…you get no base at all. You’re not even up to bat.
- Leans in at the bar for at an attempt for an Eskimo kiss. What the hell? I pat his cheek and tell him, no. Just no.
- “I’m a fuckboi. I’m not boyfriend material” Duh…seriously, have you delivered this one in the past and had girls attempt to change that???
- “I lost my virginity at 24 to a Vietnamese girl who was 26. It’s not an exact parallel to you but its close?”
- Last but not least. “If you ever need a piece of meat. Call me”
Hun, I’m going to cross my fingers and hope that you were taking the piss out of both of us last night. There were moments where I thought I sensed self-awareness and humour. Because if that is the case, there’s hope for you yet. Please see a therapist before you attempt to ever date again.
Image Courtesy of Thoughtcatalog