Monday, April 16, 2012

dating the very tragic.

My favourite thing in the world is going on a date. I love dressing up and looking pretty and hoping that I make a good impression. I love the butterflies you get when you’re with someone you really fancy. More than anything, I love when dates go badly. I love telling stories about all the tragic dates I’ve had. I love being on a date and saying something ridiculously stupid out of nervousness, and I love telling my friends what I said, to raucous laughter. I love complaining about bad dates. I love when people are rude, or they’re late, or they’re boring, because it means I get to tell hilarious stories based on their misdemeanours. I have a very self-deprecating sense of humour so I love telling stories from the ‘Oh Look How Crap My Life is’ angle – I just find it funnier.

I’ve been on a lot of dates, most of them unofficial type things. Walks, drives, Chinese food. I’ve had some wonderful dates with boys I really liked, the kind of dates that are characterised by dry-mouth and awkward chit-chat. I’ve had comfortable dates that involved food and talking and occasionally me saying something bizarre and suggesting we steal the cutlery from the restaurant. I’ve had boring dates, ones where I’m so bored that I can’t think of a single thing to say to liven up the proceedings, and anything I do say is met with stony silence, or a general lack of appreciation for my hilariosity.

My favourite dates are the ridiculous dates. The ‘Shh, cat’ moments. That time I had to walk a half an hour home in the rain on a Friday night on my own. That time Druggie Guy wanted to have sex without a condom and I had to get a taxi home feeling like poo, and astonished that people like that exist. That time I got blanked the Morning After the Night Before and thinking, ‘Okay, you’re a 4, I’m at least a 6. How dare you blank me!’ That time the boy was twenty minutes late and didn’t even apologise. The time that other boy turned up for our date wearing a tracksuit and rugby shirt and proceeded to phlegm all over the place. Maybe I just attract the very tragic boys. But it’s funny. I base most of my life on what is funny, which is why I enjoy tragic dates – I see the funny side and I look forward to telling people about them.

It’s been a while since I’ve had a nice date, one that began and ended well, and didn’t result in one of us disliking the other. I’m in the mood for passionate kissing and butterflies and being a sap, so one of those dates would be fab. But I won’t say no to more tragic dates – they provide lovely, bizarre, insane humour in my life, and make for interesting conversations later.

If you think we’d have a terrible time eating Chinese food together, please let me know, because I would love to hang out with you. Our awkward Chinese take-away would provide fodder for my future stories and I’d be forever indebted to you.

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