Kate’s sent in some splendid lines from various terrible, terrible dates.
Like this one.
“That waitress is a bit fucking rude. Do you want me to punch her for you?”
I got chatting to a cute guy at a bar. He seemed nice enough but I didn’t think much of it; turned out he was a lot younger than I’d first thought, and we didn’t have anything in common. Indeed, it turned out pretty quickly that we were interested in entirely different things.
Here’s Jonesy with the story of a strange date:
“I got chatting to Sara on-line, we laughed, we flirted, she knew her Marvel superheros, it was all good. Seizing the moment I suggested we meet up for a coffee the next day, it was a public holiday, neither of us were working, weather looked good, what could possibly go wrong?
Thanks Tommy for sharing this story:
“I’d been messaging Jakob online for a few days. His messages were succinct – efficient to the German-engineered standards you’d expect – but I assumed he’d be less awkward in person.
Thirty seconds into the date, as his 6’4″ frame lurched over my mere 5’10”, I could tell he wasn’t my future gay husband.
Five minutes in, he’d slagged off my job. I’m an accountant. He’s an accountant.
Ten minutes in, he’d called me fat.
Fifteen minutes in, he’d started talking about his dog he’d had to give up. Who would’ve thought, London landlords not appreciating puppy mess on their sofas?
Forty-five minutes in, he was still talking about his dog. I’d tried looking bored, I’d tried changing the subject: ‘You know, I’m more of a cat person!’, I’d implored. The bastard still hadn’t bought me a pint back.
An hour in, he hit me. Playfully. But he hit me.
Four hours in – why was I still there? Because I’m British and he damn well owed me a pint – he tried to kiss me. I responded: ‘AAANNNNRRHHHGGH!’
‘Is that a good thing or a bad thing?’
Thanks Tommy! If you’ve got a dating disaster to share, then please click here.
*a German friend assures me that this means “dog poo”.
We met at a bar. We drank too many cocktails and swapped numbers. Two weeks later, he called me:
Him: “Do you fancy meeting up this Friday?”
Me: “Sure, that’d be lovely”.
Him: “Do you fancy going to the zoo?”
Me: “Not really. I’m going to the zoo next weekend with my mates. I don’t want to go twice in two weeks, thanks”.
Him: “But I really want to go to the zoo.”
Me: “Yeah, I don’t, really.”
Him: “But the zoo’s great.”
Me: “I know it’s great. That’s why I’m going next weekend.”
Him: “But I’ve already got tickets for us to go the zoo.”
Me: (exasperated) “Fine. That’s fine then. We’ll go to the zoo.”
So, we went to the zoo.
A date that features otters should be magical. This wasn’t a magical date.Without the lubrication of cocktails, our conversation dried up pretty quickly. There’s only so much time you can spend talking about how cute the penguins are. We went our separate ways, knowing we’d never speak again.
Still, at least he got to go to the sodding zoo.
I’ve been without broadband for the last day or so. BT are being utterly hopeless about fixing it; they can’t even work out what the problem is.
New posts to follow as soon as I’m online (pecking this out on phone, not great)
Thanks Brenna for sending in this – frankly horrifying – story:
“About ten years ago, I was on my third date with this guy and we ended up back at his apartment. We had seen a movie together (“Ray,” I think it was) and he had just barely touched my hand as we were leaving the theatre. In his apartment, we sat on his Chesterfield and he started kissing me very passionately. After a few minutes, he stopped and said, ‘I’m very sorry, but I’ve made a mess of you.’ Continue reading Bleeding love
Here’s Val with the tale of an over-keen suitor:
“We met at a friend’s party, and hit it off. There was some light snogging.
After the party, he sent me an email declaring that 1) I was the woman for him, 2) that he wanted to have kids with me.
Whereas I was 1) wondering if I’d made a terrible mistake by snogging him, 2) unsure if I wanted to have kids with anyone, let alone him.
Not only that, but he lived a long way away. It seemed crazy to get into a long-distance relationship with someone I really wasn’t sure about.
I thought I’d try and let him down gently. I explained that, while he was a lovely guy, I didn’t think we were right for each other.
‘But I’ve already decided I’m going to move to London to be with you!’ he announced.
That didn’t help.”
If you’ve got a story to share, please click here.
Today’s tale is from Bob:
“She opened with talking for an entire hour about her ex boyfriends, and followed that by talking for 40 minutes solid about her Yu-gi-oh!* card collection. She was in her early 20s and the date was 3 months ago. Is Yu-gi-oh! still a thing?”
Apparently so. Thanks Bob!
*For anyone who isn’t aware that Yu-gi-oh! ever was a thing, it’s some sort of trading card game thing that I don’t understand. To be honest, I even find their website perplexing: http://www.yugioh-card.com. There was also a related TV series, which made my brain hurt, but I’ve aped its style for this illustration.
Him: “Hannah, I’ll tell you who I can’t stand. Teachers. What a bunch of boring, bossy bastards.”
Me: “You know I teach, yes?”
Him: “I didn’t mean you. Your work’s interesting, you teach music. I mean people who teach primary school kids.”
Me: “I teach primary school kids”.
Thanks Kate for sending in this skin-crawling story:
“I’ve now had three rape jokes made at me on first dates. This one is my ‘favourite’:
Me: “I’m not sure going for a walk in an isolated spot by a river is so advisable, really”
Him: “What, you think I’m going to attack you or something?”
Me: (Very uncomfortable laugh) “Ha… er, well, no, but…”
Him “Well, there would be one problem with raping you, wouldn’t there? You see, if I rape you now, you’ll be wise to me next time, and then I’ll only get to have sex with you once.”
Getting the last tube home one night, the chap sitting opposite me struck up a conversation. He told me he worked in finance, I told him I was a writer and musician. He told me his niece was looking for music lessons, and said he’d pass my number on to her.
Now, I did wonder if it was just a line, but potential work isn’t to be sniffed at, so I gave him my number.
The niece never called me. Instead, I received numerous messages from said bloke, telling me how lonely he was, and asking if I’d go for a drink with him.
Many thanks to Rosbif for sending in this story of a terrible, terrible date.
“The early omens were good. I’d seen a picture and profile of the woman; she was attractive, had a wide range of interests, and to cap it all was a singer and songwriter. I’d listened to a couple of her songs, and liked them. She suggested we meet in Hammersmith for a drink, and then go to a play by a playwright she assured me was the cat’s whiskers. His name was Howard Barker. Some of you may already be shaking your heads.
I met a chap in the pub. He kept talking at me.
I explained that I’m not a cyclist. But still he continued: “But you must have a favourite cycle path!”.
I had to assure him at least five times that I did not – indeed, I still do not – have a favourite cycle path.
I then asked him what his favourite cycle path was, just to be polite.
He told me that he couldn’t ride a bike.