Every so often, you have a great first date. One you remember for all the right reasons, that gives you butterflies in your stomach and puts a stupid smile on your face. Of course it still goes to pot shortly after which makes you wonder if you’re best off to sign up for the crazy cat lady club now, but still it’s nice to know you don’t entirely suck at this dating lark, at least for the first two steps. Step One – getting a date. Step Two – going on said date.
This one started really promising. With three or four weeks of intensive WhatApp exchanges, good nights and good mornings and more or less veiled hints that we both hoped this would be something. Proper Jane Austen style. I normally go for the tall, dark and handsome type and that hadn’t worked out too well recently so with this guy I went completely against the stream. Still handsome, but only as tall as me and with a beard. Both of those were novelties to me. No joke.
We arranged our first date. Very exciting. Again, we met at Liverpool Street – seems to be my go to first date place. He was there before me and sent me a pic of where to meet. Cute, right? Now, I do have my moments sometimes and this turned out to be one of them. I get there and there is a guy in a shirt with a beard who I thought sort of looked like my date. People can look very different to their photos in real life so I just walked up to him and said hi. He looks at me as if I’m some weirdo and someone comes up behind me and tries to say hello which was a bit difficult because he was laughing so much. Turned out he had seen this other guy too and thought it would be hilarious to wait somewhere else, walk behind me and see what I do. So we definitely both had a wicked sense of humour. There was a brief moment of hesitation, then he gave me a peck on the lips and we ended up strolling to our dinner place holding hands. Eww, so romantic, it’s sickening.
Dinner was at a really nice place doing all kinds of barbeque stuff so I was in heaven anyway. We chatted a lot. Had some dessert. And then went for a walk along the river. Interrupted by stopping here and there for some snogging. Absolutely wonderful. We ended up in a hotel bar for a couple of cocktails, more talking and more snogs. I might have accidentally hit him in the balls mid conversation but he was rather forgiving on that point too. Although I had to promise not to do hitting of any kind – be it on other guys or in his balls – on another date. He definitely made my heart beat a little faster.
I was a little gutted I had a last train to catch but it was made a lot sweeter by having more snogging while waiting for said train. He obviously waited with me until I was safely on board and I hadn’t even left the station yet I already got a text how much he enjoyed the evening and that he couldn’t wait to see me again. Heart melting.
As I said, unfortunately this one didn’t work out too well because I had good reason to think my Prince Charming had a wife and kid at home. Quite a blow I do admit. Why did Jane Austen never write about that?