The Slob


Dating is something people feel one of two ways about, they either dread the thought of having to suffer awkward silences and try to make generic small talk with someone they barely know (Who on earth thinks the weather is a great topic of conversation for a date?!) or they love the rush of getting all glammed up and fliting over a few drinks.

I’m in two minds about this whole dating thing. I mean, I’ve had great dates that have almost restored my faith in dating, but on the other side of the spectrum I’ve had amazingly dull dates that have made me want to tear my ears off so I didn’t have to listen to him.

The worst date I’ve ever had, has to be when I was very newly single.  We’d been chatting over text a little while and he seemed nice, interesting and most importantly, normal, then he asked me if I’d like to go for a drink with him. I thought this was natural progression, we’d got on well via text, so why wouldn’t we get on well over a drink? I’ve never been more wrong in my life!

So we arranged to meet at a pub in town, which was walking distance from his house, but a 15 minute car journey from mine. I would have thought if he was trying to impress me, he would have picked somewhere easier for me to get to, but that’s by the by. I got a text from him, just as my taxi was pulling up to the pub, he was there, waiting outside for me.

I’ve done the usual overly cautious anti abduction ritual of sending his picture to my friends, telling them if I don’t check in with them in an hour to notify the police that I have been abducted and sold to work in the sex trade. (This was followed by a rather hilarious burn from my mother – ‘well they wouldn’t get much for you, would they!’ Thanks mum, love you too.)

The initial greeting was awkward, which should have signalled for things to come. So we go into the pub, and order our drinks, I had  to order my own, because he was incapable of saying ‘White Zinfandel’ but he did pay, so he was forgiven for that small inability. He led us to a table, where it was obvious why he had chosen that pub. Some sort of football match was on and he was far more interested in the men on the telly running round in short shorts, than he was in getting to know me.

The conversation was intellectually unstimulating, painful even. I tried to make light of the awkwardness by outright saying how awkward these initial first encounters were in general. To which he replied, ‘I’m not awkward’ rather abruptly. That told me!

Almost one hour later and I was still nursing the dregs from my first glass of wine, a true gentleman would have asked if I wanted another, perhaps he was afraid of ordering it in case he said it wrong and I ended up with something else.. In between watching the football and checking his phone, he’d told me how he’s spent the day in his pants watching TV, and how that’s pretty much how he spends his days off. I’m still not sure whether this was supposed to peak my interest – perhaps he wanted to spend the day in his pants with me? But after he said that, I couldn’t help but picture faded grey, holey, smelly pants, with stains, and that confirmed the fact that he was repulsive, despite those pants being a figment of my imagination.


He hadn’t tried to get to know me, other than the initial pleasantries. Time felt like it was moving backwards. I wanted nothing more than for this torture to end. Come to think of it, torture might not me the right word to describe it, I think I’d have rather had hot pokers shoved into my eyes than endure another second of his company.

A live band started playing – which was welcome noise to interrupt the slobs latest revelation that he spent all of Christmas in his boxers eating and watching TV. I don’t think he was as keen on his story being overshadowed by an amateur band, as he suggested going to a different pub.  I saw this as my exit, and told him I was really tired and would  like to call it a night. I don’t think he realised until then how poorly the date was going. When I told him I was going , he just looked at me, shocked that I wasn’t as keen as he was to continue this exhausting meeting.

I said thank you and goodbye with a polite cheek kiss and before he could ask me for a better explanation, I was already walking away. I didn’t stop to see if he was still stood there, dumbstruck, as I left him. I just powered down the high street, simultaneously digging my phone out of my bag to call my best friend and recount this ordeal to her, much as I have done to you now!

As you can imagine, I haven’t heard from him again.  That date lasted for a total of 1 hour and 10 minutes, but it felt like a lifetime!

Silver lining; my next date can’t be any worse than this one!!

Love Single in South Essex



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