Sunday 10th July 2011
8:15am: So today’s the day for date number two with “Mr Fitty McFit Man Baby” from Saturday night. If our first date Tuesday night is anything to go by I’m going to have a brilliant day, be treated like an absolute princess and be showered with compliments and kisses WOOP WOOP...bring it on!
He said in the week that he wants to spend the day out of town doing something different so we can get to know each other. Thursday he said he was struggling to come up with ideas on the basis he doesn’t know me very well and wasn’t sure what I was in to, fair enough I thought; the guy is trying to impress me so I fed him a few ideas and we settled on Punting across the river in Oxford. Ooooh how romantic, I can visualise it right now....Mr Fit at the helm, gliding across the beautiful calm and scenic river and me with my lovely long flowing locks (I’ve just had hair extensions, they’re lush; I’ll tell you about them another time!) lying there enjoying the view that is Mr Fit! Anyway, I’ve decided on smart/casual so I’ve opted for a black cotton maxi dress with yellow flat sandals and the usual bits of costume jewellery to jazz it up. I’m wearing my hair down all flowy and seductive stylee but I have a pretty lily hair clip if I need to tie it up. Brill!
6:15pm: WOWZERS, I did not see that one coming! That wasn’t at all how I had planned the day.
We’d agreed on a 10am start (his idea, not mine) on account he wants to spend the whole day with me getting to know me and all that guff. Fine, ok, I can do early starts; sometimes. It’s not like I work late night all bloody week and look forward to a lie in on a Sunday morning! Sssshhhh Missy, make the effort, he is!
OK, ok, so it’s 10am and I’m ready, all done up for a day out punting and MASSIVELY EXCITED J
10:05am phone call...
Mr Fit: Hiya, how long does it take to get to yours from mine?
Me: About 15 minutes
Mr Fit: Ok, I’ll be there in 10. I’ve literally just rolled out of bed, slept through my alarm sorry.
R-E-A-L-L-Y? It’s not looking good for Mr Fit already; the thing I hate most is people being late
Deep breath Missy, it’s not that bad.
10:15am another phone call....
Mr Fit: I’m lost...help?
Me: (THINKING) Of course you’re lost, I live in the middle of arse raping nowhere and you haven’t asked for my address. You thought you’d wing it to mine after seeing where I live once from the inside of a taxi pissed up at 2am. Even I lose my way to my house if I take a different route.
(Saying) What’s around you?
Mr Fit: Errrr trees and fields
Me: Wow, helpful! Any landmarks?
Mr Fit: There’s a church
Me: Which church, there’s one is every village? Can you give me a name?
Mr Fit: I think I’m in ****** ***
Me: Oh Jeez you are proper lost. Right, take this turn, down there, left at this sign post blah blah blah!
He gets here....35minutes late! I am not impressed!
First impressions are massively important don’t you think? Mr Fit is dressed in thick navy jeans, black leather boots and a grey roll neck wooly jumper. It’s already 25degrees and the forecast for today is SCORCHIO. I’m immediately thinking he slept in those clothes last night. He takes one look at me and sounds really surprised when he says “Wow you look stunning, you’ve made an effort. I thought you’d have been in your jeans and a hoody.” I’m already wondering if it’s worth getting in the car with him or turning him back round to sleep off the hangover that’s clearly not yet kicked in.
My judgement is obviously clouded, probably something to do with the fact that I’ve not seen this early on a Sunday morning for near enough a decade but I decide to give it a go and bite my tongue. Off we go to Oxford for a romantic (used in the loosest sense as already my Pissed-Off-Meter is dangerously teetering on ‘About to Explode’) day on the river. We’re not even out of the village when he asks me where the nearest garage is so he can stop and get a Lucozade to quash the dangerously vicious hangover he has creeping in....OH JEEZUS! Why am I still in the bloody car with this clown?
Somehow, and for me it really is a questionable somehow, I’ve stayed in the car and I’m still prepared to give today a go. It’s a bad start, but I’m sure he can redeem himself once we get there and show me what he’s planned for us. So I ask him what today has instore and his reply is a disappointing “nothing” errr really? “I thought we’d get there and just have a look around, see what we can find” oh dear pal...you’ve actually blown it with me. The second thing I hate most in the world is ‘winging it’ I have a plan for a plan; my whole life has a million plans, back-ups and fall-backs.
So, disappointingly there’s no picnic packed up in the boot of his car, no lovely Baum Wool chequered rug to sit on and enjoy the fresh air and newness of a blooming romance. Not even a bottle of cheap wine to sip while I put my life (and new hair) in the hands of a possible new boyfriend. Nope, instead I have the stench of last night’s beer on his breath and a very baked me in his leather upholstered Golf GTi which for some reason he doesn’t want to freshen up with the delightful summer air by opening a window or make use of the air-con, yikes, today is going to be a long and probably painful day L
We finally arrived in Oxford; it took what seemed like forever to get there. My bad mood increasing more and more throughout the journey realising that Mr Fit has done SWEET F.A. to plan for this date. Effort made: A BIG FAT ZERO result a very unhappy Missy plotting her escape home on public transport, oh how I wish I had told him not to bother at 10:05am this morning.
We’re at the pub at last, a lovely pub, probably the most well known in all of Oxford “The Head of the River”, you can watch the punting and boat trips from the safety of their densely populated terrace with a pint in hand soaking up the atmosphere. I’ve decided long before we even got there that there’s f**k all chance of me getting into a boat with Mr Fit in his current state (I’m pretty sure he’s still drunk from last night) so I suggest we get a round of soft drinks in first, peruse the menu for a bite to eat and we’ll take it from there. I’m hoping he’ll order a massive burger which may just sober him up. I’m seriously getting wound up by what a drunken mess Mr Fit is, grrrrrr! He’s not working well with his pal redemption either and proceeds with a barrage of verbal diarrhoea, some of possibly the oddest/most ridiculous & inappropriate one-liners I’ve ever heard. Here’s a selection: “WOW, I’ve just noticed what Massive Boobs you have! How did I not notice this before??? WINNER!!!” / “Name 5 fish starting with the letter ‘C’...Cod...ahhh I knew you’d chose that first!” / “How do you eat your porridge? ...Me: with a spoon, MF: no I mean do you eat it from the middle out or the edge in?” He then actually wanted me answer, random!
Lunch done, conversation is seriously struggling and Mr Fit is flagging massively, time to make a move. I’m not enjoying myself, I’ve spent alot of time texting Kim, Charlie, James & Bruce to ask for ideas of how to perk up this disastrous day; they all told me to get pissed. Chances are if I did that, I’d do something stupid like kiss him and let him think today wasn’t all that bad. No, keep your head about you today Missy, it’s important to get of this without committing murder!
We make a move back to the car and Mr Fit makes one last ditch attempt to save the day; he suggests we hit the shops. Now then, if there’s anything I do love it’s a spot of retail therapy especially in Oxford, ooh lovely, go on then, why not?!?! There is of course a long list of reasons why not but I keep in mind what a wonderful time I had with him on Tuesday and against my better judgement venture into town for a little bit more second date torture. I am of course an idiot; I think I’d have enjoyed pulling my own teeth more. I had completely forgotten just how busy Oxford gets during the summer months, filled with teenage foreign exchange students on bus tours grabbing a few souvenirs for their loved ones back home. Oh dear! Not a good place for a woman with an extreme phobia of being touched by anyone other than my nearest and dearest. Mr Fit loses me in the crowd once or twice before realising that I’m dancing my way through the hoards of people to avoid anyone getting too close. Of course Mr Fit decides to rescue me (oh how heroic) and drags me into a shop filled with French backpack wearing youths choosing shoes in upmarket and trendy ‘Shue’ eek! I can feel a flippin panic attack coming on, I’m outta here!
We finally decide to head home, I think even Mr Fit has given in to the realisation that he’s flogging a dead horse and our second date is a complete disaster.
The journey home was a quiet one, conversation by now has shrivelled up completely and there’s not much else to say to one another. Mr Fit of course in his wisdom tries once again to resurrect the possibility of a truce and suggests we go for a drink closer to home. I’m desperate to scream out at the top of my voice that actually I could think of nothing worse than spending any more time with him but reluctantly agree that one more drink together to finish the day off isn’t all that bad an idea. My thinking here is perhaps if I’m not so far from home I might not feel such a massive pressure to stove his drunken head in with an empty bottle of Magners, we’ll see eh! Two minutes later, its being commented that I’ve played with my hair a lot during the day, I reply saying I’m just keeping it looking nice and since the car window is now open it’s getting a little knotty. He sharply argues that it’s too warm to have the window shut and that air-con would still be blowy in my face, I say I’m not bothered about the window being open, I’m quite enjoying the breeze and he huffs he can’t win; what’s he trying to win?
I’m desperate to throw myself out of the car whilst it hurtles down some country road but I don’t think even a broken neck would save me from this pain. I’m having a rubbish hangover domestic argument with a guy I hardly know and by now I’m so tired with it all I actually want to cry. We arrive at the pub and I scuttle off to the bar before he tries to hold my hand or come anywhere near me, why did I agree to this? To be fair, all in all, now he’s sobered up a bit conversation starts to regain its flow a bit better and his company becomes rather enjoyable once again. Unfortunately, I’ve spent six hours with Mr Fit waiting for that to happen and my patience packed up and went on holidays a long while ago. I’m ready for home; I need to walk the dog. We drink our drinks, he drives me home and there’s that awkward silence where you’re trying to think of something to say that’s not going to give him the impression there’s hope of a third date. So I say as politely as possible “Thank you for today, it was interesting. I’ll speak to you soon, maybe!” I give him a kiss on the cheek and leg it inside.
So that was my re-introduction to the dating world. I’m informed by my good friend Jo that chances are I’ll have a good few more disastrous dates before I meet someone worthy of a third meeting. Oh God give me strength? It certainly looks as though I’ll need it.
