Note to self:
- Never get hair cut on day of date!
- Do not comfort eat on McDonald’s – It won’t bring your hair back and you will feel like an over sized elephant.
- Hold off date until after PMS has gone – Your hormones will send you crazy.
Ransacking my wardrobe like a crazed banshee, in the attempt to find something that hides my McDonald’s belly. Maybe I could just throw a black bin liner around myself and say it’s all the rage in east London! Yeah, he defiantly won’t believe that.
Spotting him across the road, I’m suddenly aware of how awful I look.
Shit! Why didn’t I put more effort in? I’m wearing the baggiest bland jumper I could find and yes, its Primark – What the hell was I thinking? And to make it worse I’ve matched them with shiny leggings that sag around on my knees. Oh and to top it all off…I have a middle aged woman’s haircut.
I would laugh if this wasn’t so tragic.
Sitting opposite him, I begin to find myself acting weird and I can’t stop. It seems I’ve reverted back in to the 13 year old me – I forgot this happens when I fancy someone. I blush, act awkward and can’t talk properly except for spewing out random words like the girl from the exorcist.
I’m trapped inside my own body with no control over anything I say or do. Great, now my arms are waving around like gravity doesn’t exit and I’m talking complete and utter crap and he won’t stop staring at my hair!
Wincing my eyes together as he mentioned The non tinder date http://wp.me/p50Tds-6t and praying that ‘weird me’ doesn’t say anything bad – It turns out his co-worker had told him we had a thing going on. I dread to imagine what other lies he’s told him?
Instead of calmly explaining it was one off a drink, I begin to rant. Even as I try to stop myself, I can’t – Oh god, ‘stop talking!!’ I’m screaming at myself in my head but no…words just keep exploding out of my mouth like an erupting volcano.
Realising I’m digging myself a grave and sounding like an almighty bitch at the same time. I try to back track which just makes this whole situation worse and I’m completely lost in my own babbling nonsense.
As we leave the bar and the sheer relief that this whole thing is over, (except for the wanting to kick myself repeatedly) he throws a glimmer of hope ‘i’ll text you’ and just like that, I found myself waiting by my phone like a pathetic love struck teenager.
Unfortunately the only text’s I did receive where from the one person I wish didn’t have my number, That’s right, The Non Tinder Date / His co-worker.