—9—
Senselessness and Insensitivity
Once again, it was one of those dates that just read oh so well on paper.
Architect. Tick!
Volunteers in spare time. Tick!
Loves dogs. Tick!
Promise of an accent. Tick! Tick!
Having recently relocated from Oxford (A British accent? All hail the Queen!) this date had ‘exotically debonair’ written all over it. Could it be that a seemingly mature, ethically minded and pooch-loving bachelor had stumbled across one of my literary train-trotters? Thank the Lord, George Wickham, maybe there was a dating god after all!
So, optimistic, but totally-not-invested, I braved the date armed with an effortlessly cool ‘no make-up’ make-up and just a dash of Jane Austen swagger. I arrived at the bar a few minutes early and, as arranged, placed my well-loved copy of Sense and Sensibility on the table.
After a few non-Ashleys sauntered past my post, I was kept occupied by a couple of flirtatious nods from a Roger-Federer-circa-2014-cum-Jamie-Fraser lookalike (talk about a Grand Slam) sitting across the room. Man, was I feeling good.
Until this happened.
A petite-framed woman draped in purple velvet and chunky resin beads slithered into the seat opposite me. And it went a little like this:
‘You must be Frankie,’ she purred with an unmistakable British lilt.
‘Sorry, you must have the wrong person. I’m actually waiting for a friend,’ I replied, a little too defensively.
‘Ashley? Sorry I’m late.’
I was all, This cannot be happening!
It turns out Ashley is an architect, volunteer, dog-lover, dyed-in-the-wool Austen tragic from Oxford. It also turns out that Ashley is a lesbian.
I spent the next hour and a half sidestepping the elephant in the room. How was I going to break it to her that, as much as I might have once tried to become a lesbian in 2009 after swearing off men post a particularly traumatic second date with a frisky barista, I would never be hot under the collar for this lithe English rose?
In a bid to distract her from my feminine allure, I steered the conversation towards neutral, totally non-romantic topics. During our time together we covered:
The gas crisis of 1998.
Michael Jackson’s death.
Bookmarks versus The Dog-ear.
The royal wedding.
Moby Dick.
Man buns.
Not even recounting the story about how I once didn’t shower for two whole weeks seemed to repulse her. I could feel her feet slowly encroaching towards my side of the dusty floorboards. (Have I mentioned my foot phobia?) ‘Do you think Michael Jackson really was a paedophile?’ Her hand delicately grazed my knee. ‘And how about that Kate, doing her own make-up!’ I felt her squeeze my thigh. Damn it, I was utterly beguiling! Where had this newfound allure come from? While Ashley was lovely and engaging and oh-so-well-read, she was unfortunately not my type and I decided it wouldn’t be fair to lead her on any more.
So, with a subtle daintiness, I found myself suddenly and uncontrollably blurting out, ‘I LOVE DICK!’
So, one humiliating drink in the face later, it’s back to the tracks for me. Stay tuned for another bumpy edition of ‘How I managed to derail my love life and alienate perfectly good people’ soon.
Until next time, my dears.
After all, tomorrow is another date.
Scarlett O’ xx
Leave a comment (8)
Cat in the Hat > Can’t. Stop. Laughing.
No offence but … > (cough) homophobe (cough)
Stephen Prince > (cough) buzzkill (cough)
No offence but … > @StephenPrince, you’re a misogynistic clown. Stop writing to me via comments in this blog.
Cat in the Hat > @Nooffencebut … & @StephenPrince I could cut the sexual tension between you two with a knife.
Babbling Book > This was a hilarious read. Can’t wait for the next date!
Paperback Boy > Been looking for one of your books everywhere!
Alex David > Just found this blog and I am actually obsessed – you are my queen.