Sunday, 24 January 2010
Mr. Side Parting: The Tangled Web
The aftermath of my date with Chris (aka Mr Blind Date) put me back a bit on the whole dating game, as everything had looked so rosy but it still fell all flat on its face. I was starting to feel a bit sorry for myself due to my recent run of bad form in the dating stakes, and I think my date with Mr Side Parting was a direct consequence of that.
I still hadn’t learnt from my previous mistakes, as I met him when I was very drunk in a very cheesy club, wearing my thickest beer goggles. Looking back, the venue, my inebriation and the fact that he thought I looked like Drew Barrymore (I don’t, wishful thinking on his part) should have given me all the warning signs I needed to figure out that the foundations for our date weren’t exactly the best. If that wasn’t enough, the day after we’d met I was out with my friend Louise for lunch, when she told me that he had a big, fat side parting and possibly wasn’t as fit as I remembered. To make matters worse, Mr Side Parting then started to text stalk me…
Louise and I had gone to a pub next to a park so we could stuff our faces with greasy food then wander round the park very slowly to nurse our hangovers and gulp in as much fresh air as possible. What was meant to be a relaxing afternoon stretching out in the early summer sunshine turned out to a stressful full on text assault. I didn’t reply to one of Mr Side Parting's text messages within an hour as Louise and I were having a bit of a nap on a grassy bank, and as a result I received another message from him asking me if I was ignoring him. No, I’m suffering and I wish you would BACK OFF.
Still, he might just have been keen so I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, and we arranged to go out on a date that Tuesday.
Now, due to the factors I’ve mentioned: the side parting, the stalking, the beer goggles, I thought it prudent to put a few measures in place for the date so I could get the hell out of it as quickly and painlessly as possible if required. Deep down I must have known it was going to be shit, but practice makes perfect, and you never know I might have lucked out this time despite the dozen bottles tropical reef and the sinking feeling I was starting to experience.
I am slightly ashamed to say this, but I created the ruse that the project I was working on was about to go-live and I was on call in case there were any major issues. Cunningly, this also meant that I couldn’t drink so therefore my getaway would be relatively easy as I could just leg it back to my car. Genius. The final part of my Great Date Escape Masterplan came in the form of my friend Beth, who was briefed to call me after 45 minutes. If everything was hunky dory then I’d ignore the call and continue in doey-eyed bliss. If I was praying for a small natural disaster involving the ground opening up and swallowing me then I’d take the call, go outside, then return pretending there was a massive issue at work and I had to leave immediately.
I felt a slight twinge of guilt at the web of deceit that I was weaving, but on the whole I couldn’t help smirking at my Machiavellian planning. I mean, the poor guy, he didn’t really deserve all that even if he did possibly have the dodgiest hair seen on a man since 1983…
For legal reasons I'd like to clarify that I didn't pull Ben Affleck as the photo with this post might suggest. I just liked his rather splendid side-parting.