Mr. Sugar Allergy: The Sickly End

Music: Spin Spin Sugar - Sneaker Pimps

The date from hell continues...

With Mr Sugar Allergy's lecture on the absorption of sugar in the small intestine drawing to a close, I drank from my bottle of beer whilst he sipped on his pint of tap water in an awkward silence.  As the bar we were in was a diet coke free zone (other sugar free drinks are available, just not here) we decided to move on and go to one of my favourite bars, The Reform.


Bar 2

The Reform is a small bar with big leather armchairs and sofas, that specializes in selling continental beers of all descriptions, my favourite being cherry beer so this is what I order. Happily for Sugar Boy they also sell vodka and diet coke. It’s pretty quiet, and we get a seat on one of the sofas near to the back of the bar.

Things are getting better and conversation is picking up as we start to talk of our mutual love of music and rugby. I realise that I’m actually starting to have an OK time. I wouldn’t say that I felt a spark or much chemistry between us like I did on the night we met, but I put that down to the vat of alcohol which I’d consumed. Still, Mr. Sugar Allergy, or Stephen to use his real name, is quite good looking.  Not drop dead handsome but not ugly either. Plain I suppose. He’s about 6ft, has a shaved head (I think because his hair is starting to give up the ghost) and has a nice, open face. He smiles a lot, but I think that’s partly down to nerves. I admit that before we met I was nervous too, but as the conversation starts to flow on topics wholly unrelated to the colon and sugar absorption I start to relax, and dare I say it, enjoy myself.

We’ve been in the bar for just over half an hour, and have been laughing at each other’s taste in music, when I start to ask Stephen a bit more about his job and what he actually does. I am literally half way through a sentence when out of no-where and completely unprompted, Stephen lunges across the sofa, sticks his tongue down my throat and attempts to suck the enamel off my teeth. I’m in total shock, and I make no effort to kiss him back. In fact, I think my hands are raised and I’m just about to push him off me when he stops. The look on my face must have said it all (WTF?) as the smile on his face quickly drops and is replaced by the look of a two year old child who’s just been caught taking a dump in the paddling pool.

The date is now officially a total loss.

Our conversation dries up completely and I down my cherry beer so quickly a bit of sick comes up into my mouth, which I almost cough all over him. I make my excuses about catching the last bus home and I’m out of there, speed walking like an Olympic athlete rounding the final bend to claim the gold, except in my case all I’ve gained is a sore tongue and a massive dose of humiliation. I hope no-one I know saw that full frontal assault.

He emails me a couple of times the next day. I ignore him completely and never hear from him again.


Points to note:

• Alcohol is never to be trusted. EVER. I’ve often wondered since that date whether Stephen actually talked about his fascinating sugar allergy on the night we met, or if he lunged his tongue into my mouth from about 40 yards. Maybe he did and he thought that I liked it. Winning formula.

• Dates like this really make me appreciate the good ones, and even the mediocre ones.

• Some dates are a total loss and don’t deserve a second chance.