Standing outside in the blistering wind and losing control of one contact lens – to the point that I am squinting so much that I now resemble a one-eyed pirate – is not a good look when attempting to find my date!
Beginning to feel quite nervous…I finally get a text telling me to turn around. Noticing, through my one good eye, a strange man waving in my direction but dismissing this crazed, hand-spasming man who is clearly signalling to the girl behind me…phew – thank God that it is not him! I begin scanning the bar for this hot musician guy amongst the flurry of suited and booted city types. OH FUCK! That weird man is not waving at the girl behind…that is my actual date.
How is this even possible? The only logical explanation is Photoshop! Even Instagram filters could not have distorted his face to such a level of perceived perfection.
Walking towards him and his over-excited face, I try to hide the severe disappointment that is paralysing mine (I really would be a terrible poker player).
Sitting down and fully aware that everyone in the bar is staring at us, including the collection of extremely hot guys to the left, this is more painful than a Brazilian wax!
As he opens his mouth to offer me a drink a horrifying shriek of a voice comes flying out, which would make even the most hardened of scotch drinkers shudder!
Before my drink has even touched my lips, he has launched into full arrogance mode, detailing exactly how much money he made today. It turns out that he is not the musician he alleged to be, but is in fact a Busker. There is nothing wrong with busking but boasting about money is just not something I care for, it’s an instant turn off!
Wearing my famous look of disdain, he began to swerve the conversation to his love for animal onesies – his favourite being his giraffe one. Oh dear, sitting there thinking this could not get any worse it suddenly did. In graphic detail he described how he once had sex in his monkey onesie (with attached tail) and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and I quote ‘I was like OH YEAH’ This is a 29 year old man?!
I sat in silence for two hours as he ranted on about living in Goa and how well travelled and cultured he is. I had not the heart to tell him I had also lived abroad, it seemed too cruel to burst his bubble as he revelled in the amazingness of himself.
Yet I wished I had, staring at him in shock as his self-loving progressed into something else altogether. He started reeling off an extensive collection of bands/ musicians that according to him ‘he is far better than’ – topped off with ‘I am still amazed how it is humanly possible for me to have this much talent within me? I mean, I do not want to toot my own horn but I really am amazing’
At this point I sat contemplating, whether I should run and get a mirror to prop in front me so he could stare adoringly at himself as he rejoiced at the sound of his own voice, when it got even worse.
Feeling a tap on my shoulder I turned around to see two of the extremely good looking city slickers, hoping to God that they are about to save me but how wrong could I be – ‘We all have a bet on as to whether this is an internet date or if you actually know each other?’
With that extreme humiliation, I checked my phone, made up a ridiculous lie and ran for it!
The only issue now is that I have to forever avoid the Central Line tube stations where he busks full time, to ensure that our paths never cross again!
I have not replied to any of his texts and will not ever be doing so.