You’ll be pleased to hear that I survived my first blind date for two years!
I was nearly late as I was chatting with some friends, and as it was pouring with rain and I almost crashed into him in the doorway ‘cos I was trying to run with an umbrella, but he was tall, nice looking, had a lovely smile, looked really pleased to see me and as he gave me an approving once over as he held the door open for me and my soggy brolly, for a moment I thought I’d hit the jackpot with this one.
BUT (and there’s always a ‘but’ isn’t there) as we got into the chat over coffee, it became more and more apparent that that elusive spark of chemistry was sadly lacking.
Let me stress here that I am not going to slag this guy off, because there was and is nothing wrong with him.
Except his voice was a bit monotone.
And he had a high pitched giggle.
And he was into narrow boats.
And our senses of humour weren’t in synch.
And he seemed very, very sensible, reasonable and grown up.
Also a couple of little things niggled me and long term would probably really get on my nerves.
At times like this, I want to take myself outside, bitch slap myself hard upside the head, and give myself a right good telling off.
‘What is wrong with you?’ I’d say ‘This man is attractive, he clearly fancies you, he was on time, he didn’t swear at you, he looks fit and healthy, he has hair, teeth and everything. So what if he’s a bit, well, normal?’
I don’t know.
God knows I can’t afford to be fussy.
Maybe I should go on a second date with him if he asks?
I doubt if he will though as I didn’t do anything to prolong our time together and headed off as soon as I could, as I couldn’t take anymore boat talk. Locks and gates, gas versus electricity, camp beds, chemical toilets etc. etc., and my meds makes it really hard for me to look alert and interested when I’m going cross eyed with boredom, so I had to forgo a proposed wander around the shops (in the rain) with him afterwards.
Also it wouldn’t be fair to lead him on after I had already done the Test on him.
I’ve been doing the Test on potential boyfriends since my mid twenties when I used to hang out with a once close friend J and her friend S.
J introduced me to and S to the Test and took great pleasure in exposing our self-delusional desperation if ever she heard or saw us considering dating someone for reasons other than genuinely having the hots for him.
Be it a Loadsamoney city boy, an Armani clad yuppie, a MMM (marriage material man), or just a lovely, kind chap, J would lunge at us if there was the merest inkling of our making a sensible choice of partner, and yell ‘You’re going to date him? Really? Right, go on then, do The Test! Do it!.’
S and I would sigh, roll our eyes and tell J she was being immature or silly, that she was jealous and that the potential object of our affection was a perfectly attractive man, but she would push, taunt and mock us all evening until we did it, which after much cringing, groaning and face pulling on our part resulted in our having to admit to her that we were kidding ourselves, we didn’t fancy him after all, and then we’d have to let the poor bastard down as easily as possible.
I am now a mature woman of fifty, and still to this day, if I am ever thinking of dating anyone who doesn’t make my ovaries go ping with delight, I remember the Test, shudder, automatically do it in my head, curse J and silently admit defeat.
The Test goes like this.
You have to close your eyes, picture the man in a state of undress looming above you mid coitus, ‘shuddering to a climax’.
So in simplistic terms, you have to picture his orgasm face.
This is bad enough but if you also had the term ‘shuddering to a climax’ in your head (usually in J‘s plummy, verging on theatrical, Hampstead tones), it’s even worse, as J, who was a gifted mimic, had usually impersonated said candidate doing the deed, complete with facial distortions, fluttering eyelashes, contorted, dribbly mouth uttering little gibbers of delight and shrill dirty talk, culminating in a eerie, high pitched wail, which was enough to put you off sex with anyone for life.
Just talking about it makes my blood run cold.
So yes, you’ve guessed it, whilst I was looking at GG across the table this afternoon telling myself that he was fit, attractive, solvent and perfect man friend material, all of a sudden a vision of him looming above me, all concave, tufty chest and spotty shoulders, face contorted in pained ecstasy, and mouth glistening with muff juice filled my head and it was then I knew that I needed to bring things to an end before they even got started.
If you’re reading this J, curse you and your Test, it’s one of the reasons I’m still single to this day. And don’t think we didn’t know the real motivation behind it, as both S and I were painfully aware that we would never be allowed to settle down with anyone before you did.
It was pretty funny at the time though 🙂
So there you have it, a cautionary tale of relationship thwarting friends, an obsession with the superficial and the physical, and the pitfalls of having a very overactive imagination.
I swear I will probably be doing that test when I’m eighty with no teeth, grey pubes and my tits down to my knees and will die all alone except for cats who will probably end up eating me and not even in a good way.
And no one can help me.
This is, however, your opportunity to save yourselves.
Drink yourself insensible, buy some good brain bleach, deleted this article from your blog roll and try and forget that you ever heard of the Test.
That way, you may still have a chance of marital bliss with a good, reliable, normal man.
As for me, I fear that at this rate, I may never have sex again.
Back to the drawing board…..sigh….