Author: seekingchuckbass

Have you ever been on a date where the guy asks you a question including the words ‘role play’ and ‘my grandmother’? Didn’t think so. 

We had been on no less than four dates. It all seemed so promising. Raj was a successful property developer who was friendly and not unattractive. He ticked a lot of boxes. But lurking behind this pleasant male was in fact a 30-something-manboy obsessed with his mother.  

I should have seen it earlier. On the first date he asked me what my favourite household chore was. “Don’t really have one but if I had to choose, it would probably be emptying the dishwasher.” Raj looked a little perplexed if not disappointed. “OK. But what about cooking? Do you like to cook?”, he perservered. “Nope, not really my thing”, I replied flatly. It went on like this for a while; him hoping that this was all just a front and deep down my love for ironing would emerge. 

“It’s just that I don’t want to burden my mum – you know – I mean her cooking for everyone. Would you help out?” He asked. “What do you mean?” I asked with a stifled wtf expression. “Well I want whoever I marry to come live with me and my family. You’ll just love them. You remind me so much of my sisters; they don’t like housework either! Hahaha!” He said looking really pleased with himself. Wife? Move in? He went on, “our house is big enough to accommodate everyone. And children, I want one boy and two girls. How about you? Why don’t you come over for a trial sleepover and meet the family? You’ll love them!”.

Sadly this wasn’t the low point. The conversation continued to get more cray as the hour passed, until, cocktail in hand he looks at me alluringly and says, “Let’s do some role play. I’ll be my grandmother, you be you. What would you say to me? Go on. Say something”.

I can’t quite recall the details but it involved me getting the sweet f out of there.

Lesson learnt: if he mentions his mum more than ten times in the first ten minutes, make like a tree and leave.

I am,
Still SeekingChuckBass

xoxo
 

“I’ve booked us a table at M+H club. See you there at 7”. I read the text feeling positively surprised; he’s chosen well and I’m overcome with a sense of relief. I can see it now: I’ll walk in to see the bar staff buzzing around him, tending to his every need. He’ll be wearing a crisp blue suit waiting to greet me with a glass of pinot noir. Oh well, this dating blog malarkey was nice while it lasted.

I walk in. I’m greeted by an enthusiastic guy at reception who asks me who I’m here to see. “Dave”, I say a little too quickly . “Dave who?”, he asks. I take more than a few seconds before responding because I actually don’t know. He gives me the ‘on-a-date-are-we’ wink face and leads me through some plush curtains into the main bar. OMG. It is pitch black in here. Hang on, did I get the venue wrong, am I in that restaurant run by blind waiters? Or maybe this is a secret sex dungeon. I’m really not prepared for this, neither mentally nor physically. 

I suddenly notice a silhouette in the corner thanks to the flicker of a tea light. “Hi, I’m Dave”. “Hello?”, I say expecting to hear my echo. No sign of over-attentive bar staff. No pinot noir waiting for me. Is that a suit? Maybe. But he could be wearing a onesie for all I know.

We make niceties for an hour. He’s actually quite charming. Although throughout I’m having thoughts of using my iPhone flash light as a torch. I just want to know what he looks like. Does the gravelly voice match the face? Is he wearing lip balm? Are his eyebrows better than mine?

He tells me according to a dating guide he read (wtf??) we shouldn’t talk for more than 90 minutes on a first date. Fan-f***ing tastic! We grab our stuff and slowly make it back to the curtained entrance. Ahh LIGHT my friend, so good to see you! I turn back to see if Dave has made it and … Ohh. It suddenly becomes so very clear why we just spent the last hour in darkness.

Lesson learnt: if you get taken to a poorly lit cave on a first date, expect a face fit for radio. #harsh #truth

I am,
Still SeekingChuckBass

xoxo

It’s Friday night and I excitedly walk into Scarfes bar. I ask myself, “How have I never been here before?”. So many attractive people having fun, I almost forget I’m about to meet my date. My phone rings, and I quickly bring myself back to the present. I answer. It’s him. “Oh hiiiiya, I’ve got a table, I’m the one wearing the pale blazer”, he says in a soft northern drawl. I scan the room, hoping that all my preconceived ideas of this 30-something primary school teacher who loves yoga are wrong. I spot him. Oh no, he looks exactly like a 30-something primary school teacher who loves yoga.

I shake his wet, limp hand and immediately wipe the sweat off on the armchair (sorry, Scarfes!). The next hour of conversation is a bit of a blur. Lots of discussion about how he’s broke and enjoys foreign massage – just what every girl wants to hear.

Early on I decide that it’s going to be a one-drink-sort-of-date. I order my glass of Barbera and nurse it like I’m drinking vintage chateauneuf du pape. Not Mr Whiskey Sours though; he’s going through his like capri suns. Scheizer, how can he not be picking up on my body language? I’m practically levitating off my chair and listening in on hot couples’ conversations. WHAT??? He’s ordered another Whiskey Sour. OK, it’s time to take drastic action. Looking at my phone, I suddenly proclaim that I’ve a family matter to attend. Classic family emergency never fails. Showing slight concern, he says, “OK let me just finish this”.  Funny how he takes more than 20 seconds to take this last one down.

I ask for the bill. I quickly eyeball it – it’s around £50. I place my card down on the table with haste; I’m almost free!! The waitress hands the card machine to him first and he looks a little nervous. Yeah I would be too if I drank three cocktails and had no money in the bank. She then hands me the card machine, and what the fack, I get landed with a £35 payment? How the heck did that happen? Did he pay for my one glass of wine and think it OK for me to pay for his three whiskey sours? I shoot him a look of disgust. He’s still innocently sipping. I begrudgingly tap in my code. Unbelievable. Not only have I wasted an hour of my life with this loser but I have also paid for the displeasure.

Lesson learnt: don’t ever go against your first instincts.

I am,

Still SeekingChuckBass

xoxo