Fireworks?? Maybe! As long as we’re in a well-lit establishment with adequate seating and very few stairs.
Hello there, fellow singletons.
During a recent, unappealing stint of being forced at gunpoint into using a dating app, I realised that my list of requirements regarding the opposite sex had changed almost entirely.
No longer were my eyes immediately glancing across to ‘height, eye colour, owns a robot? Y/N’, and this was a fairly important thing.
For you see…I used to be one of those awful women who objectify men. Yes.
I’d catch myself staring longingly at them in the street, imagining them without shoes on. ‘Phwoar! Would he still be that tall??’
Or mentally undressing their eyes (if they had glasses on).
I’m ashamed to admit that I even bought Attitude now and then on the way to my job at the building site, so I’d have some buff males to whistle at during breakfast with the lads at the greasy spoon. Or something.
Here I was no longer shallowly focusing on height – which used to be my number one requirement (5 foot 11 and above – no exceptions) or eyes (aqua colours only) or hair (no ponytails, no gingers, NO BLONDES).
I was an awful person. This is probably why karma has paid me back by hiding the love of my life from me. Thus far.
So hopefully, if you’re not a very, very short man (cannot go lower than 5 foot 1, we’d appear comical and I have enough problems as it is) with puce or demonic coloured eyes (demonic possession also a turn off) and long elf-like hair that you continually swish around like a horses tail – then I think you probably *are* the love of my life…presuming I suit your own personal preferences list, that is.
If you can accept my big nose (has been broken before…like my heart 😩), my ‘fell in a gravel car park as a child’ scarred knees, and my sexual attraction to cyborgs, we’ll be fine.
With all the triviality of looks now thankfully behind us, I began thinking instead about what we’d *do*.
As I love to have something to worry about, I’ve started feeling concerned about first dates with people. Taking into account my innate clumsiness and natural propensity for saying the wrong thing at every available opportunity, there is a strong possibility I’ll mess it up.
I spend more time with feet in my mouth than Quentin Tarantino, and if walking from situations repeatedly whispering ‘oh nooo awkward, awkward, awkward’ was my job, and paid a fiver a time, I’d be a millionaire.
So, back to the first date thing. Hypothetically, you and I have met somehow – NOT via an app – and decided to go out, how lovely.
Here is where my concerns begin.
If I’m to give a good impression, I need to lower the chance of accidents or embarrassment occurring by making sure the environment we’re in isn’t designed to see me fail.
Therefore, we can go to any place you like, except the following:
1. Anywhere that has beanbags instead of normal seats.
It’s not ‘quirky’ or ‘fun’, we’re adults – it’s ridiculous.
Plus trying to get out of them once you’ve sat down makes you look like you’re trying to give birth to an epileptic Mike Tyson.
I’m trying to impress here, fighting to escape a faux leather blob isn’t a good look. No Prince song contains the line ‘sexy motherfucker flailin’ like she’s being swallowed by Sarlacc’
– therefore it isn’t hot. Prince would know.
2. Nowhere with extremely low lighting and lots of stairs.
There’s nothing more romantic on a first date, than the person you’ve shared approximately five sentences with cradling your head in a sense of awkward responsibility, as you howl in agony, while waiting for the paramedics to arrive to assess your possibly broken ankle.
They cringe quietly to themselves as they remember suggesting ‘hey, let’s try that new place, Darkpit McSteepStairs. It’s supposed to be low-key and mysterious’.
If they didn’t want to see your face during the date, perhaps it should have taken place in a confessional, with you whispering about how much you enjoy your current job and feel you’ve finally found the perfect role for you, through a velvet curtain. Amen.
Note: same applies to shopping establishments.
– Oh hai Hollister! You, sir, are quite the bellend.
3. Nowhere that serves drink in jam jars, or molten, spitting food on slates/stones.
I wonder just how many people have broken their teeth/split their lips by smacking them with the heavy rim of a jam jar while drunk.
JAM JARS. AS GLASSES. I can’t even.
Sizzling hot food. Sizzling. Hot. Food.
Why are you bringing it to me like this? To prove you’ve cooked it?
And on a slate no less, I’m alive with a sense of nature’s majesty now, thank you for deeming me unworthy of a plate.
The problem I have with this, is that I now have to reach across a table already crowded with glassware (another nemesis of mine), to spoon up some angry, spitting meat, that will no doubt cause me to flinch my hand back, knock over my drink, and possibly create a domino effect of cascading glass, wine, spitting meat, and an angry faced waiter who’ll come over protesting that it’s all fine, through gritted teeth.
In front of a man. A man I’ve already bored to death by talking about how much I love Twitter – to the exclusion of all other conversation. It’s too much.
4. A film that has already started, and contains a sex scene.
The first part of this relates to point 2, dark + stairs = slipping and tripping, and the chance to make a strange ‘OOPS!’ noise as you grab blindly for anything to keep you upright, showering at least three rows of people in popcorn.
The second part…I talk and joke uncontrollably when embarrassed, so unless you want 20 whispered puns in one minute about camera angles, positions, the music, and the actors in said scene, let’s go somewhere else.
Preferably someplace quiet, where I can tell you how much I love Twitter.
So there we are. I’d like to think I’m finally growing up a little, becoming safety conscious as opposed to shallow. Maybe I’m ready for a real career! Life insurance! A fucking big television etc, nah.
The only real first date dealbreaker I have is that they can’t have a wife or girlfriend. Because you see, dear reader, it’s quite astonishing how many gents (and ladies – for balance, but I’m talking about my own experiences) forget they’ve taken vows, or moved in with someone, or told another person that they love them – when they’re trying it on with you.
But that was never really shallow. It’s just trying to do the right thing when they aren’t.
I always like to end on a downer. 👍
(PS: I love Twitter)