Date of Date: Thursday 20th February 2014
Place: Brixton Village
I went to the gym after work then joined work colleagues for a couple of drinks (I stuck to water) near the office. I realised I had to be quick-ish in order to make my date and not be too late. It got to 9pm, the time my date and I were supposed to meet..I got my phone out ‘sorry, running late, will be there at 9.30’ I tapped in. Blew my air kisses and off I went, sexy Reebok gym bag in tow.
I caught a glimpse of myself in a tube ad panel reflection and realised I had sweat hair- you know, the hair that’s freshly washed from that morning but you’ve just done a cardio session at the gym so your scalp is almost sodden- but not gross enough to warrant a hair wash. So it was at this point I realised I needed to go home to at least run the GHD’s over, stick some heels on and dump my gym bag.
‘Sorry, another 15 mins’ I bashed in on my brisk walk back to my house. I quickly sort my hair out, slick on some lippy, wack on some heels and run out of the door.
By this point I’m late, really late. You try walking in the dark in new heels, pointy heels- it adds an extra 20 minutes onto any journey.
I approach the entrance to Brixton Village and see a guy stood there on his phone. Ah, that must be him, does he look like his photos? Oh shittttt, what’s his name again? mind is totally blank. I cannot remember his name so I panic.
‘Are you waiting for..a Tanisha?’ I say, presenting myself as though I’m some sort of showpiece that he’s just won at an auction. ‘Erm, no, I’m waiitng for a mate, sorry’ a confused looking stranger says to me. Oh god. Awks.
Meanwhile the actual date siddles up to me carrying a leather man bag and says ‘I am. Are you looking for a Mike?’ he copied what I did. I don’t know whether to laugh or cringe. I’m cringing. As I take a proper look at him I realise he’s not at my eye level. Bloody great, someone shorter than me. I’m not going to look good on his arm walking down a red carpet am I? was the first thought that entered my mind, but I’m open minded, let’s see how this goes.
To lighten the mood and my red face after that awful embarrassement, I make reference to that Specsavers advert with the train platform- you know the one, when she kisses the wrong guy. He laughs and we find a cute little bar/restaurant to sit at.
We sit at a cute little candlelit table and order the same cocktail, the conversation starts flowing. The waitress brings us a jug of water as well- yes this is significant to my story.
Turns out he works in Oxford but is staying with a friend in Brixton, hence the man bag, also hence why we matched on Tinder the weekend before. He’s only been waiting half an hour for me- I apologise and offer to buy the drink to make up for his wait in the freezing cold. He asks how tall I am ‘you seem very tall’ he says. If you call 5’5 tall, ok ok I’m probably 5’8/9 in heels, but still guys, that is not giant.
He seems lovely, but keeps bringing up how he loves lazy Sunday’s and all that’s missing is a girlfriend to laze with (bleurgh). By this point I’m two Tom Collins’ down and need some water. As I reach for it I knock the entire jug over and it spills ALL over his man bag and part of his right leg, before smashing into pieces on the wooden floor. Oops.
I literally have no idea what to do by this point because I’ve taken off my shoes under the table and I’m scared if I move that -a) he will wonder why the hell I’ve decided to make myself at home and go barefoot in a random restaurant during a date, and b) I will cut my feet open, and I really do need my feet, it would be such a waste of shoes without them.
So I keep saying ‘sorry’ over and over, while he gets the waitress and a cloth. Meanwhile I’m vigerously fighting to put my feet back into my shoes, but they’ve expanded in the heat of the restaurant/swollen from the walk, so I feel like one of the Ugly Sisters forcing on the glass slipper. They won’t budge, I’m bloody stuck with half a foot sticking out of each shoe while I stand up and try to help pick up shards of jug glass.
After that kurfuffle we sit back down and talk more date chat. I laugh at something, only I don’t just laugh like a normal person, oh no, I laughed through my nose and blew the candle out with my NOSE air. So we’re now pretty much sat in darkness, him with a wet leg, me with swollen feet and neither of us can see eachother due to my nose laugh.
It gets to about 11pm and the waitress starts clearing up, we’re the last ones left now so I start easing my feet back into my shoes a good 5 minutes before I suggest leaving.
We stand up, oh yep, he’s shorter, forgot about that. He walks me part way home and we say our goodbyes.
Lovely guy, I’m convinced I won’t hear from him again after the water and candle incidents, but I do. He added me on facebook, and text me, but I had to be honest with him. I could happily be friends with him, but as for romance, just not the one.
Maybe that Oxford graduate will be more my type..