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Dating Bambi…

Boston Terrier Dating Online

Image by Don Hankins via Flickr

Okay, am going back to early autumn for this particular dating delight.¬†Meet Tom – we’d been chatting online one night, and he offered, at 2am, to shower and hop in his car for the hour’s drive to my home, to have sex. What a gentleman, eh? ūüėČ

I refused his kind offer, but agreed to meet him for dinner the next night. You’re probably wondering why. Well, Tom was different to anyone else I’d ‘met’ online; he seemed confident and assertive, manly even.

And he didn’t send me pictures of his willy.

Oh damn you, online-dating-fake-persona!¬†Within a few minutes of us meeting, I just knew Tom¬†lacked testicles. ¬†Call me a cow, but I cannot stand that ever-adoring, puppy-dog, you’re-so-lovely-and-I’m-so-grateful-I’ll-do-anything-to-please-you face on a man. It makes me want to slap him, and yell, ‘Grow a pair, you wuss!’

His idea of conversation was to agree with every Tiny thing I said. I began contradicting myself and making the most ridiculous of statements just to get a reaction. No chance! Tom just simpered and bobbed his head like one of those nodding dogs you see in the back of a car.

In fact, the only interesting comment he made all evening was this:

‘God, I walked past¬†this old wreck of a car in the car park. It was falling to pieces. And it didn’t have a proper back lens cap, just a piece of Christmas pudding wrapper taped over the brake light.’

‘Was it a faded green Fiesta?’

‘Yes! Did you see it, too?’

‘Kind of,’ I replied. ‘ It’s my car.’

But the best bit of our date, the pinnacle of our jovial time together, the absolute epitome of our shared experience was walking through town and stumbling across a Gay Pride gathering. The streets were awash with loud lesbians and happy homosexuals, high on celebratory, unfettered sexuality. And beer.

How did my confident, assertive, manly date react? He darted from his roadside position to the inside pavement position, so that I was shielding him from ‘danger’, his eyes, wide, like Bambi caught in oncoming headlights. He thrust one arm¬†across my shoulders, and wrapped the other around my waist. The¬†bloke was terrified! If he’d¬†possessed balls, they would’ve shrivelled to the size of acorns.

And¬†the moral of this story, children?¬†Never, ever believe an online dating profile. Even if he comes across as a testosterone-fuelled ‘real man’, underneath there’s¬†just a scared, pathetic, homophobic¬†Big-Girl’s-Blouse!

 

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Hot date? It wasn’t even tepid…

Wacky emoticon

Image by wstera2 via Flickr

Okay, had my first Hot Date on Friday night.

I didn’t really want to go, to be honest.¬†After a knackering¬†day at work¬†I was more in the mood for a hot bath and pyjamas than making small-talk with a stranger, but I dutifully showered, de-frizzed¬†my hair with half a pot of gel and trowelled on a smiley face.

Heigh ho!

On the site I use, you can choose a specific phrase to describe your body shape – thin, athletic, muscular etc. Well Mike really¬†should’ve picked the ‘carrying a few extra pounds’ box. I’m not sizist. Neither am I much of an oil painting myself; in fact if I were a work of art I’d be hanging in the storeroom, but I’d just like people to be honest. I mean, what else was he denying? A wife? A criminal record? Female genitalia?

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, Mike. Well, he did all the right things – greeted me with a kiss on the cheek, complimented me on my choice of vibrantly turquoise skirt and made eye-contact while we he chatted. And chatted. And talked. And stated. And commented. And declared. And revealed. And said…You get the picture, right? I heard all the grisly details of his marriage, the break-up, the moving out of the family home, the divorce, the custody battle….I know about his parents. And his brothers. And their wives. And their children. And Barney the hamster who accidentally¬†got flushed down the loo¬†in 1997. And Scooby¬†the dog , run over by a bus. Now munching Bonios in the Great Big Dog Kennel in the Sky.

Image via Flickr

Mike took¬† a breath at half-past nine, so I rushed to the ladies’ and set the alarm on my phone.

He was halfway through the scintillating story of workmate Derrick’s ongoing problems with Irritable Bowel Syndrome when my alarm went off.

Sorry,’ I said,¬†battling to keep the joy from my expression. ‘I must get this text. It could be the kids.’

Oh, you have kids?’

I read the display menu on my mobile.

‘Yep, minor emergency at home. The dog’s just sicked-up a sock. Sorry, but I’m gonna have to go…’

I had just reached the car park when the phone beeped an incoming text.

‘Tiny, I think you’re absolutely lovely. Really enjoyed tonight. You’re so great to talk to! Hope to see you soon xx’

Quite frankly I’d rather catch a large and scabby¬†dose of herpes.

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