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This is a question Bad Dates

Tell us about your least successful date. Arrive late? Forget their name? Show them goatse on your phone just as the main course arrived? Or was it the other way around?

(, Thu 17 Oct 2013, 16:27)
Pages: Popular, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

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She'll do
During a dry spell, my mate Malcy the Alcy (this was the 90's, way before anyone could even spell nominative determinism) rang me. He had recently discovered the delights of internet dating. "Hey coke, I've got one for you. I've been chatting her up for ages, but she's not for me, do you want one of my rejects?" was the basic gist.

Yeah alright.

We spoke one evening, I had a bit of The The on the gramophone at the time and she could hear it in the background. She asked what it was, The The I explained. The what? she said. I died a little. I agreed to a date. In a town called Ware. Where she said? Ha fucking ha I said.

Two days later, we're in a red and white checker Italian. The walls are adorned - I shit thee not - with many pictures of Gillian Taylforth. I figure she is either a regular or the owner likes car head.

We are chatting, me and the reject. She's a big lass, wearing a leather skirt and big thigh high leather boots - for me apparently. I had said at one point I quite liked girls in heels and therefore this outfit is deemed appropriate. I smile insincerely. They are not heels, they are wedges, the least sexy of all the shoe fixtures. I do not like this evening, it's boring.

She is talking, I am watching. Then it happens.

She just stops. She freezes. Cutlery held still, mouth still in the shape of saying the word "thunder". I am confused. She has frozen solid. I look around and she doesn't move. Her eyes are dead. She has crashed, locked up, died maybe??

And just when I was about to call for help, "...nder and lightening was mental." - she resumes as if someone just released the pause button.

She is is fully 30 seconds unmoving and it takes me a further 30 to realise she hasn't even noticed.

My weirdedoutness must be obvious. She hesitates, 'oh did I just freeze?'. I nod. 'Yeah I do that. Weird huh. Do you want to go back to mine. We can listen to The The, I own everything they've ever done.' She insists on paying. I am a gentleman 99.999% of the time. I decide this to be a 0.001% moment. She pays. I glance back at the Gillian Taylforth gallery as I'm dragged away by the hand.

In the flat, I note the stack of still shrink wrapped The The CD's and VHS cassettes of "The The: Infected". I love The The but maybe not any more. I am feeling the edges of worry. Or a future involving kitchen knives and threats.

I sit down and she gets me a beer. She goes to the toilet and is there for a while. I hear nothing, thank god. She comes back in the lounge, sans boots. She sits crosslegged in front of me. Her leather skirt is short. She is not wearing any underwear and I can see labia minora. For a millisecond I am tempted.

I weigh it up. Its too easy. I could just shoot and run. She knows my mobile number. She doesn't know where I live or even my surname. I could probably do this and then leave and never come back. I may survive the night. I don't think she will eat me. She doesn't have cats. The house is clean. No one will know. She'll know. She'll call me tomorrow. The day after, every day. This wont go well. I am better than this. I'm on a dry spell. Every hole's a goal. I could just leave now and make some excuse. It really fucking raining. I can actually see fanny and its been a while. My penis is not feeling it. Its the least sexy I have ever felt. She's a low level stalker with issues and fakes locking up in restaurants. She works in a bank. She pretends to like bands that I like to get me into bed. Shit.

I lie about something and leave. I call Malcy and call him a cunt to his answerphone. There's no way he's conscious at this time.
(, Fri 18 Oct 2013, 19:47, 10 replies)
i like this.

(, Fri 18 Oct 2013, 22:00, closed)
I like this

(, Fri 18 Oct 2013, 22:03, closed)

Does this mean we have to get married Janet.
(, Fri 18 Oct 2013, 22:04, closed)
wait, which one are you?

(, Sat 19 Oct 2013, 7:57, closed)
the only thing I own with a capacity of 44,000 litres is my cock.

(, Sat 19 Oct 2013, 11:22, closed)
Sounds like the bones of a Channel 4 edgy sitcom.
Write it up and send it in, and I'm so sorry for your loss.....
(, Sat 19 Oct 2013, 1:44, closed)
It sounds like a short story from the New Yorker.
And that's no bad thing.
(, Sat 19 Oct 2013, 9:52, closed)

(, Sat 19 Oct 2013, 10:48, closed)

I married her.
(, Sat 19 Oct 2013, 11:15, closed)
I like this.

(, Sat 19 Oct 2013, 11:22, closed)
This is good, it's getting a click

(, Sat 19 Oct 2013, 15:39, closed)
malcy is a cunt
and i like this
(, Sat 19 Oct 2013, 15:50, closed)
I like this.
And I'll still like it in the morning.
(, Sat 19 Oct 2013, 19:51, closed)
Hefty lass, thigh high boots, leather skirt.
You should have given her one so she got pregnant, then went back to your buiders job, while you mate married the skinny blonde one.
(, Sun 20 Oct 2013, 9:34, closed)

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