So, my last entry discussed the dangers of old in the world of internet dating - the days of no profile pictures. This led to me spending a painful / scary evening with a freak of nature.....
These days, profile pictures are the focal point of a profile. You can put up as many as you want it seems, in various different settings,thus showing you are sporty / fun / sexy / kind to animals etc. So you'd think that we all know what we're getting when we rock up for a date, yes? NO! I have found people lie! The pics are old in some cases, and due to one such lie last year, this led to another painful date....
I'll set the scene. I'd been having a dry spell on the dating front, and was getting weary. I'd dabbled with a young hot thing earlier in the Summer, but brains were lacked. I had joined a website called mysinglefriend.com ages ago, one of the many I've tried. If you haven't heard of it, it has a description of the single person by a friend, and tends to be used mainly by middle class people called Bertie and Fi-fi, who work in marketing, live in Richmond, and spend their weekends at gastro pubs or catching up with their rugger mates from school. Anyhoo, I was away with a friend on a road trip (tip - if you road trip, change your Tom-tom to Irish Ned. Comedy genius)and I checked the site to see if anyone new had added me to their favourites. And they had. A stunner. He had a glowing profile from his friend - described as funny, successful, gorgeous, and she had no idea why he was single. And he was FIT. Messaging started, telephone numbers were swapped. He worked in TV - I had visions of me attending the BAFTAs as his date when he won an award. I'd picked out my dress and everything.
I was a bit disappointed when further digging unearthed he was currently working on a chat show as an interviewer, but hey, we all have to start somewhere. Again, a date was arranged. I was to accompany him to see Hairspray, and after meet with the star of the show who he was friends with. (His name will remain confidential - but "It's a puppet" was a catchphrase of his). To say I was nervous is an understatement - this could be my future husband! So nervously I waited outside the theatre. He called. He was walking across the road. De ja vous. He was a munter. Shor. Greying hair. Pot belly. The photo was obviously a good 10 years old. Flossie who'd recommended him should be done by trading standards for false advertising. I reckon she was the same dick who told the fat Phil Mitchell he looked like Dermot O'Leary.
I'm stuck at this point - you'd think after Dermot I'd have learnt - hide round the corner, check them out, then run if they are ugly. We went over to a bar where I promptly necked two large glasses of wine. Well, I necked one, then we took off his coat. This is when I clocked the outfit. A Star Wars, diamonte t-shirt, with a velvet blazer over the top. Eyes down - a pair of K Swiss trainers, which I truly believe should be banned for men over 21.Glass number two was then necked.He also smelt like he had bathed in Cool Water. (I still can't stand the smell - I had to get off the tube recently due to getting a whiff). Slightly drunk, we made our way to the theatre, and enjoyed a great show. He did keep grabbing my leg when he laughed which I chose to ignore....I should've run.
After meeting Brian (oops), we popped for a bite to eat. This is where it started going horribly wrong. Up to now he'd been ok, just visually not what I would go for (I'm being kind there). First, more about his job - it turned out he was a failed game show host, who used to present Family Fortunes after Les Dennis and before Vernon Kaye.("Keep smiling" was his catchphrase, which he signed all emails and texts with). He now worked for Alan Titchmarsh (or as he called him, "The Titch") as his warm up man.The BAFTA dream was well out the window by this point. Then the hand holding started. Excessive hand stroking - whilst I was trying to eat, as well as showing me pictures of his children and telling me (with a rather bitter voice) that his ex wife was now shacked up with a buff 26 year old sales assistant from Bicester Village. The excessive hand holding once we left the restaurant led me to chain smoking all the way to the car....it was so late to get the train - I had no alternative than to accept a lift. I considered a cab but figured my hands would be safe in the car, as he had to drive.
As luck would have it, the dick head had an automatic. I was cursing the dating fairy greatly, whilst my right hand got lovingly stroked all the way from London. I'm not ashamed to say that I pretended to be asleep from Hanger Lane to my house - a bit of a toss up between me giving him my postcode for his sat-nav and him knowing where I lived, or wanting to have my hand amputated the following day. I chose my hand. I rather like it.
The misery was almost over - we were home. I had a stiff neck from the fake sleeping, a hand so carrassed it made me want to vomit, and a signed programme by Brian. I rejected the offer to walk me to my door, and gave him a peck on the cheek, when he was blatantly going in for a snog. Then the perilous question - "can i call you?". I crumbled. He had a big boot and could have easily kidnapped me by knocking me out cold using a cloth damp with Cool Water. I answered "yes". Then, he clenched his fists; drew his arms down; and said "YES". I ran very quickly into my house, and deleted his number. The next day my hand was still twitching in horror, and despite having minimal contact, I could still smell Cool Water.
I ignored the texts, and hoped I'd never see him again.
(Until a few weeks later. In a local pub to me - and not to him. He was on another date, wearing the same outfit, stroking some poor womens hand. My friends thought it was brilliant, and insisted on saying "keep smiling" in a game show host voice.He did see me, did a double take, and I ignored him out of horror. To be fair, the date looked like she didn't mind the hand holding - proof i guess, that one mans frog is another girls George Clooney).
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment