Mr. Side Parting: The Brush Off

Music: Sad Story - Plain White T's

So despite all my reservations about our date, Mr. Side Parting and I met. 

When he was walking towards me, he only vaguely resembled the man I’d swapped spit with a few days before. Damn vodka. He looked much older than I remembered too, late thirties I’d say, and a bit unkempt. The “indie” look which I’d fancied on Saturday was actually just general scruffiness.

His hair was long and a bit shaggy which I usually like, but he hadn’t even been arsed to wash it. He was wearing a “white” t-shirt which was now off white at best but closer to “grubby” after one too many outings, and as he approached me, the slight breeze didn’t do him any favours as it blew his manky top against his chest and showed off his moobs somewhat spectacularly. Not a man who looks after himself too much then. We headed to a quiet bar, and as we took our seats I told him about the situation with the project, all the time noting that his fingernails were chewed and dirty and that he hadn’t even bothered to shave. I played the potential for receiving an emergency phone call down, willing myself to give him a chance.

Ten minutes passed, and it felt like several lifetimes. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so difficult to talk to in my whole entire life and we did the exact opposite of click. We’d already covered music, sport and TV in that short time – topics that I can usually talk about with someone for hours. Still, it was early days so I persevered...

"So do you go out in Leeds often then?"  I asked as I took a sip of my diet coke.

I know, such a lame line but I was running out of inspiration.

"I only moved back up here from London a couple of weeks ago," Side Parting said as he started picking his fingernails.

"Oh really?"  I replied.  "How come?"

It was an innocent enough question, but I wasn't prepared for what was coming next.  Let's just say it was Classic Dating Gold.

"I'd been living with my girlfriend in London but she moved back up north for a job, so I followed her," he began.

"Oh right."  I replied.

Eh?  Did he stalk her up the M1 or something? 
Side Parting must have noticed the quizzical look on my face, as he quickly moved to allay my fears.

"Don't worry, we're not still together or anything!" he 'reassured' me.  "I'm not cheating on her with you, if you're worried about that!"

Well no I wasn't, but I was keeping my fingers crossed, as it would have been an excellent Get Out of Date Free card.

"You see it's a bit complicated," Side Parting continued.

Great.

"I mean, I did move up here to be with her... But when I got here she dumped me in less than a week," he continued, looking totally tragic.

Marvellous.

Cue a five minute (one sided) conversation about his ex-girlfriend, how he felt about her, what he thought they were going to do in the future and where he thought it all went wrong.  I'd say it was your manky T-shirts and chewed up fingernails for starters mate.

Still I decided to try and appear interested in him and steer the discussion away from exes, so I attempted to change the topic of conversation.

"So where are you living now?" I asked as I sipped my drink.  "You must have been lucky to find a place to rent so quickly after only getting back a couple of weeks ago?"

"Oh no", Mr. Side Parting said, "I’m back living with my Mum and my Grandma and I'm sleeping on the sofa bed in the spare room."

I thought he was joking, but alas he was being deadly serious. Man, I wish I could have a beer.

So to summarize, I was on a date with a totally unattractive, tediously dull bloke in his late thirties, who’d just told me all about his evil bitch of an ex-girlfriend and how he'd stalked her from London before she dumped him, leaving him to live with his Mum and Grandma in a small box room. Oh, and did I mention that as he left London so quickly he didn’t have to foresight to line himself up with a job, so he spends most of his days watching Jeremy Kyle and QVC but still doesn’t find the time to wash his t-shirts properly.

What a catch. This was now officially the worst and most painful date of my life. Not only was he unattractive, but he was blatantly not over his ex and nothing in his life seemed to be going for him. Except for when Beth rang, as I hot footed it out of there faster than a cheetah with its arse on fire, therefore saving both myself and Mr Side Parting from any more stilted conversation and very awkward silences. He knew that the date was terrible too, and happily I never got another stalky (or any sort) of text message from him again.

Post mortem:

• Seriously. Learn the lesson that alcohol in vast quantities does not help you meet nice men.

• Text stalking = text stalking. You can be keen and still manage not to harass someone in 160 characters.

• I was quite obviously this guy’s rebound date, and didn’t I know it. It really made me realise that talking about exes in any way, shape or form is bad news when you’re meeting someone new.

• To reiterate: alcohol is not my friend.

Mr. Side Parting: The Tangled Web

Music: The Great Escape - We Are Scientists

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.