…then my dating in 2016 should be definitely original and innovative (I’m looking at the bright side here). Shall we also throw in some bisexuality?
My friends in the past often commented that some things can happen only to me, and I agree. I don’t know anyone else that is as curious as me, and this curiosity makes me want to explore as many new personal worlds as possible. Coupled with this curiosity, there is a very high threshold of embarassment, and the belief that most people deserve a second chance. My friends often found my dating misadventures entertaining and hilarious (thankyouverymuch, we’re kind of talking about my life here). That’s actually on this basis that they insisted for me to write a blog, and while I’ve decided not to talk too much about my dates gone horribly wrong (a marketing move, otherwise who will buy my book?), I think my first date in 2016 deserves a post.
So, January 1st, 2016. This year we had decided not to go on out on 31st in order to avoid busy, expensive clubbing nights, and to rather do it on January 1st. Once more, in order to ease my love life, my gay friends insisted on going to the WE Party at the Brixton Academy. For those not in the loop, a very gay, very hard-house, very gay night. Did I mention it was very gay? But hey, why can’t I be lucky like Rihanna and find love in a hopeless place?
The level of security is anguishing, the venue is more suited for a concert, than for a club, it’s a bit cold and strangely stinky, maybe from the NYE party, so the beginning is not as good as we were hoping. But then, we all know how it works: the music, a few drinks, the atmosphere… The magic happens, and off we go dancing the night away.
I meet Andrew, a cutie who is a great dancer. I see him checking out girls, so I am rassured that he’s one of the few straights in there. He confirms he likes women when he sees my tall, blonde friend L. He stops and mesmerised says: “Wow. You, Roby, are ok, but your friend is gorgeous.” Here is probably the first part where another girl would have walked away. I mean, one of those few that would have gone to a WE party in the first place. But not only I stay, I love it when someone takes the piss, I find it the best form of flirting.
So we go on, dance a bit more, he offers me a drink, then finally we kiss. And we kiss a bit more, and a bit more, when we are not the Queen and King of the dance floor. When we go out for some fresh air he asks for my number, and I record it in his mobile under “Roberta gorgeous Italian”. He then sends me a text, that I can’t see as my phone is in the bag, in the cloakroom, and he tells me that he finds me lovely, and that he respects me too much to ask me to go home with him. (what about respecting my horniness and actually taking me home with you? Just a suggestion…) He suggests anyway to meet up for a coffee the day after, that he has my number and we’ll sort it out.
We go back dancing, kissing, and at around 5.15am he asks me if I want a drink, given that he’s going to the bar. “A Smirnoff Ice, thanks”.
……And he probably brought the Smirnoff ice to one of you, because he never came back. HE NEVER CAME BACK. Can you believe that? At first I think there is a queue at the bar, then I think he must have stopped to talk with his friends… Then it hits me, and I just can’t believe it. I visualise myself as one of those dogs that in the summertime are abandoned in the highway (probably only an Italian, shameful phenomenon). The bastards pat the dog, reassure him with their caresses, and then the car sprints away, leaving this bewildered dog to his sad destiny.
Guys, this was a first even for me. Abandoned on the dancefloor. And what for? I didn’t ask him anything. We were going home separately, so why disappearing like that, without a goodbye? And more importantly, if that’s my dating beginning , and a good beginning makes a good ending, how will the rest of my year be? (Has anyone got a tourniquet I can borrow?)
When we go out and I get my phone, I find this really romantic, in a post-modern kind of way, text from him: “Andrew big cock”.
HOW TO DESTROY THE IMAGE YOU HAD OF A GUY IN TWO SECONDS. He was there telling me how much he respected me, and then sends me this text. I call him, no answer (the bastard!!!), so I write him “Why did you leave me like that, without a goodbye?” with around 53 sad little faces. And this is for sure another thing that many girls would not have done, writing to him.
Around noon that same day, he comes back to life, and answers that: “Yup, I’m a twat, I do that, I disappear without telling anyone (Is he Superman?). Look, you are hot and I loved every minute with you”. I reply, bitter: “And that’s it? You could have saved me all those “I-respect-you-so-much-let’s-go-for-a-coffee” bullshit. I didn’t ask you anything. We could have just properly said goodbye and wished each other a great 2016, without creating any expectations and disappointments”.
Unexpectedly, he writes me: “It’s an automatic pilot thing I do, rather than an insult to you. I meant every word I said even though actions didn’t live up to them”.
And here’s where we get to another turning point, something that those few girls who would have still arrived to this stage would probably not have done: I call him, in the certainty anyway that he doesn’t want to be scolded like a little boy and won’t probably pick up the phone. I call him because this guy needs to understand that what he does is very disrespectful and life is already though for a single girl in London, we don’t need being abandoned like that.
Surprise! He picks up the phone. “Listen, Andrew, how old are you?” “37” “What? You looked more like 52. AAAAAAAnyway, at your age you still have this automatic pilot thing? It makes people feel shit, do you know that?”. He apologises profusely, tells me that his phone is full with his friends’ texts who had been waiting for him at the club and couldn’t find him, and says he would like to apologise by taking me out for dinner.
I accept, nonchalantly dropping this pill of wisdom: that I think every little thing we do, ever little action, says something about us, so he is indeed a twat, but I also accept that in those clubbing nights we are all a bit altered and not exactly our normal self, so I will give him another chance (will I ever say no to a free dinner? Mah!).
He then wants to clarify two things, before we go out. The first one is: “I realised only this morning that while at the club I sent you a text that, though truthful, was not that appropriate”. Ok, duly noted (especially the “truthful” part ;-))).
The second thing is just a tiny little detail: “I’m actually bisexual. My last two relationships were with guys, though I really like girls and am probably more in a girls’ phase now”.
“So, would you still like to go out tomorrow?”
Now, how many girls would have got to this stage? And how many, disclosed this little detail, would have gone out?
Exactly my point. Welcome to my world. I think that it’s nice that he wants to apologise (and balance his bastardness), and that I’m really curious to finally hear about this bisexuality from a professional of the sector.
And so, off I go to our date.
…And you will have to wait for tomorrow to know how it went!