The banter’less’ builder

So now I’ve told you a bit about the horrors of Happn and scariness of speed dating, seems only right I tell you another Tinder tale – God knows there are enough of them!

Like all Tinder romances, this one started with a swipe. However, I’m not sure how much thought had gone into this one, as when I received the first message I can’t say I was overly attracted to him – again probably one who had slipped through accidently as a result of heavy Tinder use,

This guy wasn’t ugly or anything, but his pictures didn’t exactly leave me desperate to know more. He was a builder and his stereotype cheesy builder bants messages didn’t really do much to ‘build’ on the attraction. True, these sort of messages were better than your typical the one word, or worse one picture Tinder messages …but not much.

However, when it got to Thursday and I still didn’t have any Friday night plans I thought I might as well give him a chance and go on a date – cheesy builder bants was a lot more appealing than the thought of a Friday night in watching the Corrie double bill. For the date I was thinking something along the lines of a casual after work drink – nice safe first date territory. This guy fancied meeting for a drink too and a meal AND the cinema! Feeling more than a little anxious about the prospect of going for some sort of most activities on a first date record, I said yes to the drink and kept quiet about stage two three of the dating marathon.

When Friday came around, there was the usual Tinder date panic of whether or not he was going to bail at the last minute. Thankfully, my worries were put at bay when at 12pm he text to check I was still on for tonight. He then text again at 5pm, which to be honest I did think was maybe a little overkill but the thought was there all the same.

In text number one we’d agreed that we would meet in Ocean Village for a drink in Frankie and Benny’s – not the most romantic of locations but within a convenient driving distance from work. Parking up I did the typical look around for my date whilst trying to not like you’re on a first date hunt. Smiling at hot strangers feeling hopeful, avoiding eye contact with weirdoes and basically doing anything to avoid going up to the wrong person.

After a quick survey of the car park I clocked a guy at the entrance of Ocean Village. He was standing in the right place at the right time, but the shy way he was standing, staring at the ground, didn’t match up with the cheesy ‘bants’ filled messages I’d received over the last few days at all. With no one else in sight I decided, despite his mousey appearance, this must be the guy so I took a deep breathe and walked over to say hello.

Unfortunately, the response I got was so quiet and muffled that I swear some dogs wouldn’t be able to hear. Thankfully, from what I could decipher from the whisper, this was at least the right guy and I’d avoided the go up to the wrong guy embarrassment. We then made the painfully silent walk to Frankie and Benny’s where despite my best conversation attempts; I struggled to get more than two audible words from my date.

Arriving at the bar, I was beginning to wonder if I had something seriously wrong with my hearing when he managed to squeak out would I like drink.

Replying with possibly the quickest yes I’ve said, I prayed that some alcohol would loosen up his vocal cords. No such luck. And as we sat drinking the slowest drinks ever I tried everything from hairdresser style small talk to shameless flirting to bring this guy out of shell. Sadly, every response was shorter (and quieter!) than the last. It got so bad that I gave up asking him to repeat his answers and simply smiled and nodded hoping I hadn’t agreed to something totally inappropriate.

When he finally finished his beer, I was just about to grab my coat and make my excuses when a hyperactive Frankie and Bennys waiter appeared from no where and excitedly asked us if we would like to go to sit down and get some food now. NOOOOOOOOO! To my despair, my date didn’t hear my mental screams and at this point decided to speak up and say yes we would love to. We then faced another painful walk together before sitting in silence to stare at the menu. The silence was eventually broken when my date asked if I wanted a starter. There was no way I could sit through a meal with this guy – let alone multiple courses!

So I made up some lame story, blaming a big lunch and asked if he minded just getting another drink. Looking slightly confused and not really taking the ‘I hate this date’ hint we returned to the bar where to my horror he ordered the biggest cocktail – this not only took forever to make but a lifetime to drink! It was at the point when our conversation had seriously resorted to “Do you like animals?” and “what weather do you prefer?” I had to escape to the toilet.

In desperate need of an escape I did what any logical single girl would do in this situation. I rang my gay best friend. Telling him about my dyer situation he told me I must escape immediately and agreed to phone me with a fake crisis like in Sex and the City – it’s situations like this that reaffirm to me that gay guys are a million times better than straight ones, always there when you need them, always there with a Sex and the City reference.

Returning to the bar my boring date was still only half way through his colossus cocktail when I felt my phone vibrate like crazy with my gay best friend phoning me. I was all set to answer when a pang of guilt suddenly set in – damn that conscience!

So, instead of answering the phone I ignored it and sat through a further 30 minutes of mind numbingly boring conversation until his cocktail was finally finished. It was at this point my date asked what I fancied seeing at the cinema that night! Okay, I had a consciences but I wasn’t Mother Teresa, so said I suddenly felt very tired and ended the date with the typical Chandler from friends line lie “it was great and we should do it again sometime”

I then returned home and had a conversation with the only true man in my life I can count on…my gay best friend.

 

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