Date II with SM

Ah, that sinking realisation that you may be underdressed.

No one around to sanity check, so you reason "No, I look like someone in a magazine. And they don't look like whores, those nice magazine girls."

So you set off, and yeah a few builders make comments but that's hardly surprising, they're animals.

A few cars beep, nothing new.

A preist tuts. Mothers sheild their childrens eyes, but you think "No, they don't understand, I'm wearing City Shorts! It was in Vogue. It's always in Vogue! I'm summery and charming!"

And dressed like a homeless prostitute.

We met at ten pin bowling. I had warned him that I was unskilled, but nothing could prepare him for how much I sucked. We played 2 games, I had a few tantrums, but I did learn some of the basic techniques of how to bowl. Follow through straight. Easy with the back swing. Maybe have some muscle definition in your arms, any at all, before attempting to swing a 16 pound weight from three of your fingers.

Then we went to that lovely pub in Finsbury Park that sells thai food. I love thai food! Somehow my table manners had returned, and I was loving my food. I mean, I really do love Pad Thai. So there I am cheerfully tucking in “this is such nice food!” God I love this food! How’s yours?”
“You are really hungry, aren’t you?” he observes.

It was then that I realised that all I’d eaten that day was a can of Nurishment and a pear. What must I have looked like.

We stayed in that pub for about 4 more drinks. Sitting on opposite sides of a table, chatting about all sorts, as friends. Friends. Why do I suddenly have a new friend? A 6 foot 3 new male friend? I mean I’m not complaining, except I am - when is this going to get exciting?

So we go to the next pub, it’s like 22:30 by now. And I am fidgety. It was suddenly very awkward. We were very clearly both there for a reason, which we were not actioning. So I sat on the sofa next to him. Still nothing. There’s a telly in front of us playing BBC News. We are talking about this and that – AND WATCHING BBCNEWS. This was not happening. I decide to just let the silences happen, rather than commenting on the injured footballer anymore. So I sit there in the silence. Look at him. Shrug my shoulders. Raise my eyebrows. Roll my eyes. Smile. Point at the elephant in the room. He laughs, knowingly. Pause. Still nothing!

“I’m really quite drunk now,” I declare with a flourish.

Boom.

God, men and their green lights! You really have to spell it out for them these days, where have all the risk takers gone?

Anyway, it was awesome. After a bit of exciting awesomeness he said to me, "I like your style" - I thought: writing style? You like my genre? He could obv see the cogs turning "I mean your clothes. I like the way you dress." I don't believe anyone has ever said such a thing before. Cannot wait to see him again.