I’m afraid this first gentleman was an unwitting participant in my experiment, as he most definitely expected that there would be a second date after this first. His name was E*, and we met up for drinks at the Foundry in Old Street. Because I had such low expectations of the date, and I was training for a marathon, I didn’t wear heels (as I normally would on a first date), but instead wore a slightly ridiculous outfit of shorts and Doc Martens. Why the fuck not? I honestly didn’t care if he liked me or not.
I arrived slightly early and felt awkward waiting by myself, so I made a phone call outside, which, even more awkwardly, was still going on for a good 5 to 10 minutes after his arrival. He went in and bought us drinks. E was cute enough, in sort of a geeky way that I usually would go for. Tall and blond, with nice blue eyes and a nose slightly too large for his face. Slightly scrawny in that sort of “I’m really cool and I live in East London” sort of way. Clothes from a charity shop… bordering dangerously between “cool” and “maybe that should have been thrown away”. I’ve got low standards, what can I say, so he initially passed my test.
The reason I really went out with him at all was because he’s Irish. I’m a sucker for Irish accents, I’ll admit it. Unfortunately… when he opened his mouth I was immediately confused. I couldn’t understand a word he said, his accent was so thick. After about 20 minutes of asking “what?” every two seconds, I think I finally began to understand about 30% of what came out of his mouth, and was able to smile and laugh my way into pretending I understood the remaining 70%.
And, actually, it was quite fun. We had a few pints there, he made fun of my boots (strangely, a plus on the “make me like you” scale), we joked and I started to like him a bit because he was funny and swore like a sailor. And drank like an Irishman should. Plus, he was a graphic designer (which is the sort of thing I would go for) and into the same music as me. Check.
We ventured to Hoxton Bar and Kitchen for another drink… or 3… I lose count, much beer was drunk. Bit of a closer chat, though I have to say I wasn’t feeling any particular spark. I remember watching him walk away in his 70s yellow shirt and brown corduroys and thinking to myself, “would I want this guy to be my boyfriend?” He was fun, but I couldn’t see it happening. Call me shallow, but I think it might have been the dumpster clothes.
He walked me to get my bus from Old Street station, and on the walk there he stopped, and looked at me, and kissed me suddenly. And, wow, it was intense. And out of nowhere! I didn’t even really fancy him and all of a sudden we snogging each other’s faces off in the middle of the street. For a good five minutes or so. Eliciting comments from passers-by. It was when he asked if I wanted to come home with him that I sobered up a bit and said No thanks, and caught my bus home.
I have to say, though, that he’s lucky he was such a good kisser. I did consider going on a second date with him, for that reason alone. But unfortunately for him, after a couple of days I was able to awake myself from that lip-lock-induced coma of first-date giddiness and remembered my first impression of him… slightly awkward, dirty Irish guy with the weirdest accent in the world.
No second date for Mr E. He did text me a number of times afterwards, and I’ll admit I did lead him into thinking that we’d go out again. But then I cancelled at least 2 or 3 times, and stopped returning his texts (in that really mature way I have of dealing with guys I don’t want to see). Finally I made up some excuse about getting back together with an ex, and he got the hint. It’s a shame, really, cause he is SO good at kissing…