First dates
As much as we hate to admit it, we all get a little nervous before a first date. We spend days flirtatiously texting, obsessively stalking their Facebook profile (along with that of their ex-girlfriend: Is she prettier than me? Have they definitely broken up? I’m not being a rebound! Whilst scanning through her profile pictures you accidently like one of them. “Shit!” I will just quickly unlike that and it will be like it never happened). We’ve all done it.
After we’ve gone all FBI on him, we decide to go on the date; well that is of course after sending his picture to our best friend for approval. We need to know if they agree that he’s a strong 7 – they don’t agree of course – but he is single, relatively good looking and he even has a job! Ok so he takes drugs on the weekends and has a bit of a lisp, but beggars can be choosers.
After taking no advice from our friend we then send the text “Ok when and where?” We don’t put a kiss on the end of the text, that would seem too keen. No instead we just wait for a reply and then freak out when his reply text doesn’t end with a kiss. What’s with his attitude? Prick.
There are two types of men. There’s the one who will say “Where would you like to go?” We criticize him for not being dominant enough to make a decision. “I wish he would just man up! “Then there’s the one who offers to take you to Nando’s, *rolls eyes*
He’s the guy that gets slated for not asking what food you enjoy; “He didn’t even ask if I was a vegetarian.” Men just can’t win, we love to hate them! But seriously though Nandos, are we twelve?
You’re going out with him on Saturday night so obviously you need to pick out an outfit. That’s when the panic strikes. I need to look my best! Shit, I need to look like Valencia Filter. I never thought this through. Was he shorter than me? I can’t wear heels if he was shorter! If I wear a dress will it look like I’m trying too hard? But then if I don’t wear a dress will he think I have not made an effort? After micro analysing your wardrobe, trying on twenty five different outfits and becoming surrounded by a pile of unwanted clothes you decide to have a bitch fit. Nothing looks right, you feel fat, and your bedroom now looks like a bomb has hit it. After thirty minutes of self-loathing and an unsuccessful last minute shopping trip you give up, IM NOT GOING! No one can speak to you for at least two hours, they better not dare.
Eventually you snap out of it and grab an old pair of skinny jeans and throw on some heels. Please, there’s no way you wear missing out on a free evening? But then again, is it? That is the question on everyone’s mind. Who’s paying? I mean surely if he said he will take me out that would mean he’s paying right? Enough with this modern day bullshit, if you offer to take us on a date we want you to take us on a date! Ok so it’s nice to share the burden of payment responsibility when it comes to dates, we don’t mind that, if you’re a bum that is. If we say “no its ok I’ll pay” Of course we don’t mean that! Any man that lets a woman pay after offering to “take them out” is a gobshite. We don’t need you to pay for everything, but it should be at least 50/50, mingebag.
Now you’re all dressed up and ready to go. That is after spending five hours perfecting your hair and eyebrows. You’ve got your false tan on and nails done. It’s now six o’clock in the evening, you’re supposed to be meeting for six, but of course you want to be fashionably late. It’s when you eventually do arrive, comes the worst moment. Getting out of the taxi. Your stomach lurches and the butterflies are at their peak; this is when you can see them from a distance and you’re praying to god they have good clobber on. There’s nothing worse when you go out with a lad and you meet to see he’s nursing a pair of one stripe trainers and a Le Coq Sportif hoody. The date is over before it’s even begun. You start counting down the seconds until you can leave. You run off to the toilet to text your mate, “SOS you need to call me! Do the one ring that we spoke about!”
The classic date locations are usually a meet up at a bar. Which let’s face it we all prefer, what better way to get to know someone than getting pissed together? You talk crap, and it can only go one of two ways. You either realise you hate them and never have to see them again or you want to sit in the corner club necking.
One to avoid: The boring Cinema date. You meet outside the Odeon, he’s stood there pretending to text on his phone but really he’s checking the time because you’re fifteen minutes late. You say Hi then basically don’t communicate for an hour and a half. Not the best. We want to get to know our date, we’re not interested in watching Jurassic World, no matter how fit Chris Pratt got. We want to see how fit our date is. Cinema is ok for maybe date number four, once you have established you like each other, but on a first date? No. Just don’t even.
One to avoid #2: The restaurant date. Sitting there with a gorgeous man and all’s you can think about it how you’re going to do this. He’s asking you all kinds of questions trying to seem interested and you’re just here trying to figure out how you’re going to get him to agree to a second date after he’s seen you go all ‘feeding time at the zoo’ on this meat feat pizza that’s just been laid in front of you. ‘Shit! Do I use a knife and fork? Or do I just tuck right in? It’s all too much!’ Eyebrows are now starting to sweat off with the sheer panic of it all. You clearly want to shove it all in your gob but he can’t know you’re a beast on the first date. So we play it cool, eat two slices and embrace the starvation. Then four dates later we’re eating a starter, main course, desert and his left over bacon fat – unlucky lad.
Not all dates are disastrous, but we’ve all experienced a bad one, He’s blabbering on about his ex and recent fall out with his mum, meanwhile you’re looking for the nearest fire exit. Yep, we’ve all been there. But just remember if it all goes to pot you are allowed to leave. Your freedom is just a fake emergency phone call away…
XOXO
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