23
Sep
2015
4

Tinder date #2: The gentle giant

I may have over promised with the whole ‘one Tinder date a week’ thing. But it’s hard not to break such generous promises when we’re relying on two parties to come to the partaay. I can only be responsible for my own banter and seduction techniques, and if these randos on Tinder aren’t on their game too, well I’m sorry but they are getting unmatched.

To be fair, I did have a date lined up with a Kiwi for the Friday before last. I like Kiwis. My dad’s a Kiwi. But the Kiwi cancelled last minute; “Real sorry Jess, had unexpected work drinks, gutted though.” What followed was a small series of complicated texts where I ended up coming off a little crazy and him a bit of a weirdo. Because he was trying to tell me he just wanted sex and I was trying tell him I just wanted a blog post, but neither of us really wanted to say. I even tried to pretend I was easy, but apparently you can’t play a playaaaa.

Anyway, I managed to secure a date with a new guy the following week. It was a very quick turnaround and he was very impressed with his efforts, but he really should just thank the blog.

He made funnies early in the game and I was literally LOLing at my desk, and I just thought HEY THIS GUY.

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See that. Funny as.

So I went straight in and organised a hilarious date for the following evening.

The next afternoon I did almost pull the pin though. I was at work and he sent me a text asking if we were still on for the evening.

But then he ended the message with a stupid ‘x’.

YOU CAN’T USE ‘X’ THAT EARLY, MATE. That’s way too affectionate for someone you don’t know. Yuck. Besides, where do you even go from there? You can’t go back after using the ‘x’, people think they’ve done something wrong if the ‘x’ disappears from communications. An ‘x’ is a very powerful little device, it says so much and so little.

My friend made me suck up the use of the premature ‘x’ and go meet the funny guy for a drink though. She’d been following the conversation and had high hopes for me on this one.

I got to the bar first and guarded a table. He text me and said he would pick up drinks on the way to said table. So I waited in anticipation.

And then, in he walked.

A huuuuuuge man.

I stayed sitting because I’m ruuuuuude and he lent in and gave me a peck on the cheek. Which in my books is the real-life version of a premature ‘x’.

I disapproved.

His humungous hands sat our drinks on the table and he took a seat. I shifted slightly to fix my posture and obviously my legs interacted with his legs, which had had no choice but to encroach into my space.

He was attractive. I like a man who looks like he could throw me around the bedroom. He had a nice face and nice teeth; really nice hair and nice skin, the nice result of a Caribbean father and an English mother. I was really keen for some nice jokes to start emerging from his nice lips but I’m regretful to say that none did. And the entire evening was soooooo booooooring.

The conversation was painfully bland and un-engaging. No banter, no jokes (on his part), no interesting stories about almost dying like The Hippy. At least The Hippy had cool adventure stories going for him.The Gentle Giant was just a dull middle class suit from the north. Did I mention he was wearing a suit? I was wearing me bloody wellies.

What? They’re Hunters, man, I pulled it off. And it was raining.

He told me boring stuff like where his parents grew up in England, how his Grandad was a bus driver, how his sister was starting university, how his nephew was cute and how he hadn’t been abroad this year but usually at the very least does an annual trip to Ibiza.

The most interesting story was the one about acquiring the scar on the bridge of his nose. He fell down drunk when he was 21, but was away on a boys weekend so only put a plaster on it and carried on. It was a deep cut and should have had stitches. I only really found that funny because he was such a big fella.

I felt obliged to buy him a drink in return, so I went to the bar and got him a beer. I got myself a soda water and pretended it had vodka. I drank it really fast and told him I had to go. Another uninvited peck on the cheek later and we were walking in opposite directions.

I won’t see him again. Even though he text me an hour later to say what a lovely time he had. Which I’m glad he did because it meant my exterior behaved and didn’t reflect the internal torment of boredom I was suffering from start to finish.

Sorry to be a bit harsh. Just being brutally honest, you know, for the blog.

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