My first and DEFINITELY ONLY date with Hampstead Guy was today.
I met up with a friend at Borough Market beforehand, and discussed the possibilities of the date. She also works in finance (he’s a banker) and said she was certain she could determine exactly what type of guy he’d be based on what type of work he did. “So he works on six spreadsheets at a time… he’s a trader. Which means there are two possibilities: either he’s a nerdy, socially awkward maths guy who has started to think he’s pretty cool because he makes a lot of money. Or he was a pretty cool guy and then started to make a lot of money and became incredibly arrogant. Judging by his excessive texts, I’d bet money it’s the former.” Spot on.
I arrived 15 minutes late to our date (my friend and I decided I might as well do lots of “date no’s” on this date as I didn’t expect it to go well). He looked like his picture… except shorter than I expected, and chubbier. First impression: Not good.
We walked to the pub (The Freemasons Arms), where we had whatever-meal-you-call-it-when-it’s-3pm. I had pizza (carbo loading for a long run tomorrow!) and we shared a bottle of wine, and then an amazing brownie with ice cream.
I’m going to do my best not to be overly critical, because he was honestly a really, really nice guy. We chatted and had nice banter, he asked me a lot about myself and I talked away. It probably would have been a really good date had I been remotely attracted to him. But I really wasn’t. So I tried a bit of date sabotage. I mentioned my millionaire Italian exboyfriend (and that he had given me the bracelet I was wearing). I- no joke- showed him that when I’m really full I can make my belly look pregnant (and also mentioned that I used to occasionally try to freak out my exes with this). I talked endlessly about myself. Aren’t these all things that are supposed to put people off? Unfortunately, it turns out that my date sabotage tactics are incredibly endearing. Dammit.
We left the pub and started walking through Hampstead Heath towards the overground station. I started dreading that he might try to kiss me, but just prayed that he might be too much of a gentleman (or too shy). Nope. As soon as there were fewer people around, he started to put his arm around me (I elbowed him in the stomach) and then he turned me to kiss him. I didn’t know how to get out of it, so I let it happen.
And I got a whiff of an unmistakable odour. Eau de Fat Steve.
I should probably explain. Fat Steve was a guy who lived in my rez in first year. He, as you probably interpreted, was really very overweight. And the showers in our rez were very small, and I do wonder if he fit in them. Possibly not, and this would explain his incredible odour. Something like stale body odour, mixed with a bit of foot and possibly some rotting junk food. I once had to go into his room, and was seriously overcome with this stench. I have never forgotten it.
Hampstead Guy smelled- just slightly- like Fat Steve. It didn’t help that I wasn’t attracted to him at all to begin with, but kissing him and smelling this was pretty difficult. I’ll give him some credit, he wasn’t the worst kisser in the world, but I suppose that having to close my eyes, hold my breath, and think of someone else probably takes away from the kissing experience.
We walked through the Heath, with him occasionally trying his “ignore-your-defensive-elbows-and-try-to-take-you-in-my-arms” kissing approach. Finally we got to Gospel Oak Station. It was closed, and we’d have to walk one further to Hampstead Heath Station. Dammit.
He joked about our possible second date. I told him the rules. JUST FIRST DATES, YO. He was pretty confident that this one was good enough to merit a second, and in fact, how did I know for sure that I wouldn’t want this to go somewhere, that this could in fact *be something*? I walked faster, and began talking non-stop (about how super amazing I am at all aspects of life) hoping this was deter further kissing attempts.
Finally we got to the station. He asked what I was doing tomorrow after my run, or later during the week. Conveniently (and actually, not at all untrue), I am actually very busy. So he suggested maybe we meet up next weekend. I said coyly that we’ll see.
He texted me when I got home, saying that I’m awesome and that it was really great to spend time with me today.
At least he can’t take it personally when I don’t respond. I warned him that was how it would be.
I might go brush my teeth now.