Guess what I did yesterday? I went on a date. i engaged in a social interaction with an actual real-life human man. And he didn't run away scared. Huzzah!It was touch and go initially, for on Friday night I got drunk. Horrendously drunk. There was a networking event at my uni, which involved a free cheese and wine reception. FREE WINE! It would be silly not to pass up free wine, right? WRONG!
Cue Saturday morning. I awoke with a start at around 8.30, with an arid mouth and pounding head. After performing the obligatory bedside fumble to check my purse, phone, keys, etc, I groaned at the recollection that it was in fact Saturday morning. My date was scheduled for 1pm at a cozy cafe in one of Cardiff's amazing Victorian arcades. Was 4.5 hours sufficient time to get up, vomit, have coffee, choke down some toast, walk dog, shower and look presentable for my date? It was looking doubtful.
None-the-less, I managed it. Sort of. As I made my way to the cafe, my heart was in my mouth. I was practically hyperventilating with fear. I stood outside the cafe and waited awkwardly for my date. A emerged from inside the cafe, and led me to a table he had already secured. All the while I blushed awkwardly. I was so nervous I could not look directly at him. He was like a human eclipse. Nice bum though. We exchanged a few pleasantries, and I surprised myself my saying vaguely normal things, like "how was your train journey?", and "it's a lovely day today". This was not to last.
You see, I suffer from that common affliction known as verbal diarrhoea. Now I can't remember what I said to A exactly. It's all a bit of a blur. However 24 hours on I have been remembering snippets of conversation and cringing. Here are just a few examples:
-(When talking about tea) "what is your stance on dunking biscuits in your tea-are you pro or con?"
-(upon seeing hamsters in a pet shop whilst walking around) "what are those warlocks?"
-"I adopt a hedonistic approach to most things. A little is good, more must be better!"
-"I am afraid of lawnmowers"
-"my first car was named Nobu, which incidentally is the name of the restaurant where Boris Becker had sex in a cupboard.."
Thankfully A was humoured by most of the crap I said. In fact he told me I cheered him up. A himself was very funny. Not crazy funny. Actual funny. The more I spoke to him, the more I thought "wow, he's hot". There's nothing sexier than I man who doesn't mind the crazy.
So as we parted ways a torrent of thoughts rushed through my head (will there be a kiss? Hug? Handshake?). In the end, there was a mixture of the latter two. I had gone in for the kill and hugged him. Realising I may have misread some signals, I THEN proceeded to shake his hand.
We both declared we had enjoyed ourselves, but date number two was not arranged. He did text me later in the evening to check I had not succumbed to a lawnmower-related fatality, but it remains to be seen whether he fancies subjecting himself to another dose of crazy. But at the very least, I got to eat pizza and cupcakes with a handsome young man. All-in-all, a successful hangover day.
Cue Saturday morning. I awoke with a start at around 8.30, with an arid mouth and pounding head. After performing the obligatory bedside fumble to check my purse, phone, keys, etc, I groaned at the recollection that it was in fact Saturday morning. My date was scheduled for 1pm at a cozy cafe in one of Cardiff's amazing Victorian arcades. Was 4.5 hours sufficient time to get up, vomit, have coffee, choke down some toast, walk dog, shower and look presentable for my date? It was looking doubtful.
None-the-less, I managed it. Sort of. As I made my way to the cafe, my heart was in my mouth. I was practically hyperventilating with fear. I stood outside the cafe and waited awkwardly for my date. A emerged from inside the cafe, and led me to a table he had already secured. All the while I blushed awkwardly. I was so nervous I could not look directly at him. He was like a human eclipse. Nice bum though. We exchanged a few pleasantries, and I surprised myself my saying vaguely normal things, like "how was your train journey?", and "it's a lovely day today". This was not to last.
You see, I suffer from that common affliction known as verbal diarrhoea. Now I can't remember what I said to A exactly. It's all a bit of a blur. However 24 hours on I have been remembering snippets of conversation and cringing. Here are just a few examples:
-(When talking about tea) "what is your stance on dunking biscuits in your tea-are you pro or con?"
-(upon seeing hamsters in a pet shop whilst walking around) "what are those warlocks?"
-"I adopt a hedonistic approach to most things. A little is good, more must be better!"
-"I am afraid of lawnmowers"
-"my first car was named Nobu, which incidentally is the name of the restaurant where Boris Becker had sex in a cupboard.."
Thankfully A was humoured by most of the crap I said. In fact he told me I cheered him up. A himself was very funny. Not crazy funny. Actual funny. The more I spoke to him, the more I thought "wow, he's hot". There's nothing sexier than I man who doesn't mind the crazy.
So as we parted ways a torrent of thoughts rushed through my head (will there be a kiss? Hug? Handshake?). In the end, there was a mixture of the latter two. I had gone in for the kill and hugged him. Realising I may have misread some signals, I THEN proceeded to shake his hand.
We both declared we had enjoyed ourselves, but date number two was not arranged. He did text me later in the evening to check I had not succumbed to a lawnmower-related fatality, but it remains to be seen whether he fancies subjecting himself to another dose of crazy. But at the very least, I got to eat pizza and cupcakes with a handsome young man. All-in-all, a successful hangover day.
Love this!! <3
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