I was getting on really well with an older man, thinking he must be sophisticated and mature. We were arranging a date and I was suggesting locations but none of them met Mr 30s’ approval. I asked him where he would like to go and he sent me his address and suggested that I wear light clothing. I sent back a message explaining I was disappointed. He replied “I am 7 years older than you what did you think I wanted?” Then I got angry and pointed out that his sparse grammatically-incorrect messages didn’t exactly spell out that he was only looking for one thing. He got even angrier and listed out his qualifications, scholarships and recommendations from people well-known in the land of academia. I told him that that was lovely and used my favourite part of the app: the block button. One swipe and they’re gone!
Next a handsome man called Gareth sent me an amusing joke as a chat-up line. After four messages and not even knowing my name he asked me for a drink and suggested a date and time. Thinking ‘there’s a man who knows what he wants’ I simply responded that I would see him there. He sent back his number in case of an emergency. Bad move boy! To Facebook I went and found out that he was Romanian and was nicknamed after a Greek god for his well structured facial features. After half a bottle of rescue remedy I was ready to go and was sitting in the pub for 9pm on the dot. One must never be late for a date, but apparently it’s only me who thinks that. Zeus arrives at 9.24 and stumbles over an imaginary obstacle and completely passes me by. He texts all flustered and what not as if the pub is some sort of never never land and I reply that he should look a little harder. In that five minutes I thankfully have been chatted up by a randomer who then gives out to Zeus for being late.
Already amused I then noticed my late date is wearing a bright purple suit with a pink shirt. His reason for being late is that he is ‘lazy by nature’ and then insists we sit outside in the rain because it is more romantic, but only used his pocket tissues to dry his part of the seat. After numerous conversations all ending with another bullet point about how great he is he grabs me and kisses me. I’ll admit it was a good kiss. I made a lame excuse about having a hard-ass boss (in case you are reading, I think you are great sir) and an 8am presentation and headed for the door. A 113-minute date is a new low for me but on second thoughts, perhaps it is an achievement of some sort. Before we departed, he asked me to send him some dirty snapchats.
Anyone know where to buy a nice cat?