okay?” She was looking at me with genuine concern. It took me a minute to realise that this was an actual date and she was completely serious. Having waited alone in a car park for over ten minutes on a cold winters night just to pick me up, here she now was offering to buy the first round of drinks. With the benefit of a well lit bar, it was evident that this was no prank for her and that she had went to a great deal of effort in getting ready. She was simply immaculate and not what I was expecting.
Not at all.
When did I get this paranoid?
Trying to clear my confusion, I feebly endeavoured to take stock of the situation. “No, don’t be daft. You drove. Besides, what sort of gentleman would that make me? Now, what can I get you?” After asking for a diet coke, Sian excused herself and disappeared to the bathroom. I took the opportunity to down a quick double scotch to ease my frazzled nerves and try to relax, then took our drinks and found a booth for more privacy.
As she returned, I pretended to ignore her by watching one of the many televisions dotted around the place. In reality, I saw every step that she took and conceded that she was most attractive. I would guess she was around the 5’8” mark, size 10 or so–not that I am in any way an expert on women’s sizes–and wearing black trousers that look to be tailored to her figure rather than off the peg. She took her seat opposite me, raised her glass to mine and said “cheers”, then took a drink.
I have no idea what happened next. Maybe it was the pressure from the realisation that this was an actual date, and not a windup, that somehow reinvigorated my nervousness. Maybe I was simply intimidated by her. Whatever the reason, I just could not stop talking nonsense. Rambling, babbling, prattling nonsense. Over the course of those following few hours, my really bad jokes were interspersed between even worse stories.
It was first date suicide.
“Do you know that I can prove God is a woman?” I asked, deluding myself into thinking this would be a joke that a woman would appreciate. After a seconds thought, I quickly realised that this was a joke that I had only ever told to men who, more understandably, had found it funny. It was sexist and crude, and certainly not first date material. Inside my head, my better angel was begging me– “Please stop talking” –but there seemed to be no way to shut myself up.
“You can prove God is a woman?” It was obvious that she was taking this rather seriously. Now she had me wondering if she is in the God Squad? “Okay, how is God a woman?” As she sat back and folded her arms, I recognised that this is a defensive posture and so she is preparing for my attack. I’m going to be wearing her drink in a minute. If I am really unlucky, it’ll be my drink she throws.
“Three reasons.” There was no way back now. Keep smiling Z, just keep smiling. Let her see it’s a joke. “One, women are either pre, post or actually menstrual. They have the perfect excuse at all times for being cranky and miserable. They inevitably blame men at these times for not being understanding, and for all the other evils in the world. As such, any one of these stages provides women with the ideal excuse for not having sex. Only a female God would be so calculating.” She was dead faced. No reaction, nothing. Not even the hint of a smile. My smile was fixed and I pushed on rather sharpish.
“Reason two? Multiple orgasms. Women can have multiple orgasms whereby men only have one. Normally followed by a complaint in my own experience.” This reason found a faint smile although not one that showed teeth. Good enough for me, maybe not such a bad joke after all.
“Reason three? No self respecting male God would put a man’s G-spot up his arse !” I sat back in triumph and laughed at my own joke. Not cool. She rolled her eyes and looked around as if trying to see if anyone else had heard me. Thankfully nobody had. A smile was
Not at all.
When did I get this paranoid?
Trying to clear my confusion, I feebly endeavoured to take stock of the situation. “No, don’t be daft. You drove. Besides, what sort of gentleman would that make me? Now, what can I get you?” After asking for a diet coke, Sian excused herself and disappeared to the bathroom. I took the opportunity to down a quick double scotch to ease my frazzled nerves and try to relax, then took our drinks and found a booth for more privacy.
As she returned, I pretended to ignore her by watching one of the many televisions dotted around the place. In reality, I saw every step that she took and conceded that she was most attractive. I would guess she was around the 5’8” mark, size 10 or so–not that I am in any way an expert on women’s sizes–and wearing black trousers that look to be tailored to her figure rather than off the peg. She took her seat opposite me, raised her glass to mine and said “cheers”, then took a drink.
I have no idea what happened next. Maybe it was the pressure from the realisation that this was an actual date, and not a windup, that somehow reinvigorated my nervousness. Maybe I was simply intimidated by her. Whatever the reason, I just could not stop talking nonsense. Rambling, babbling, prattling nonsense. Over the course of those following few hours, my really bad jokes were interspersed between even worse stories.
It was first date suicide.
“Do you know that I can prove God is a woman?” I asked, deluding myself into thinking this would be a joke that a woman would appreciate. After a seconds thought, I quickly realised that this was a joke that I had only ever told to men who, more understandably, had found it funny. It was sexist and crude, and certainly not first date material. Inside my head, my better angel was begging me– “Please stop talking” –but there seemed to be no way to shut myself up.
“You can prove God is a woman?” It was obvious that she was taking this rather seriously. Now she had me wondering if she is in the God Squad? “Okay, how is God a woman?” As she sat back and folded her arms, I recognised that this is a defensive posture and so she is preparing for my attack. I’m going to be wearing her drink in a minute. If I am really unlucky, it’ll be my drink she throws.
“Three reasons.” There was no way back now. Keep smiling Z, just keep smiling. Let her see it’s a joke. “One, women are either pre, post or actually menstrual. They have the perfect excuse at all times for being cranky and miserable. They inevitably blame men at these times for not being understanding, and for all the other evils in the world. As such, any one of these stages provides women with the ideal excuse for not having sex. Only a female God would be so calculating.” She was dead faced. No reaction, nothing. Not even the hint of a smile. My smile was fixed and I pushed on rather sharpish.
“Reason two? Multiple orgasms. Women can have multiple orgasms whereby men only have one. Normally followed by a complaint in my own experience.” This reason found a faint smile although not one that showed teeth. Good enough for me, maybe not such a bad joke after all.
“Reason three? No self respecting male God would put a man’s G-spot up his arse !” I sat back in triumph and laughed at my own joke. Not cool. She rolled her eyes and looked around as if trying to see if anyone else had heard me. Thankfully nobody had. A smile was
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