Now, I can be a LITTLE picky when it comes to the men that I date (I realise that at this stage beggars can’t be choosers, but even so). I once stopped dating a boy because I became transfixed by his nostril size. Another ended after the first date because I thought he had ‘arms like eels’.
So my friend pre-warned me with this guy -‘Just turn up on the date with an open mind’ she said. ‘Don’t be a dick and stalk him on Facebook before hand or analyse his profile pictures. You could really like him’.
So that night as I logged in to stalk him on Facebook and analyse his profile pictures, I tried to look to the positives. I mean… he seemed lovely. A nice, well-dressed… God-fearing boy (is this the sort of thing one is supposed to look for?). I almost balked when I got to the profile picture of him cradling a large salmon, but managed to move past it.
Then my mind started to wander- what if I actually did like this boy? Salmon is, after all, my favourite fish. What if I actually took things slowly, dated him properly and he BECAME MY BOYFRIEND?
That’s where the thoughts about mine and my blind dates future together should have ended.
But unfortunately for me, my gin-addled brain kept on whirring.
Suddenly, I was thinking through what area in London we would move in to together (south, clearly), how many bikinis I should take with me on our first holiday to the Maldives (making a mental note to pack cystitis relief sachets and corn plasters in my toiletries bag), where and how he would propose to me and whether I would burst into tears or laugh in his face, what sort of hat my mother would wear to our wedding and whether our first born son should be called something sensible, like Sam, or something really edgy, like Barabbas or Wee-Willy.
And then the inevitable came. The arguments. The heartbreak. Me walking into the bedroom to find a pair of size 8 knickers (clearly not mine) stuffed behind the bedside cabinet. Him walking in on me without makeup on for the first time in our 3 year relationship and realising that he had actually married a woman who resembled a large badger.
Then came the divorce; arguments over who got to keep the candelabra and who got landed with the Japanese Peace Lilly. Him silently removing his wedding ring, me beating him over the head with his latest catch of salmon.
So as you can imagine, when the time finally came to actually meet this poor boy for our first date, I just… couldn’t. I mean, WE HAD BEEN THROUGH SO BLOODY MUCH TOGETHER ALREADY.
And frankly, quite frankly, I was still slightly smarting at him being allowed to keep the collection of Faberge eggs, when he KNOWS that they are my favourite and he NEVER REALLY WANTED TO BUY THEM IN THE FIRST PLACE.
More to come…