We’ve all been there. You spend all morning worrying about it, all of lunchtime imagining every possible scenario and all afternoon getting ready. Then you turn up early…only to find out they’re a dud.
I still remember being involved in a scenario just like this, despite it being quite some time ago. My best friend Michael assured me that this girl was a “real corker”. He warned me that she was ‘a bit horsey’, but I took that to mean that she was from an agricultural background (and probably had money).
I was wrong.
We arranged to meet at a beautiful village pub. I’d opted for chino’s and a pink shirt (smart yet accessible) and put on my best aftershave. When I walked in to the pub, my heart immediately sank. “Mischievous Michael” had tricked me.
I’m disgusted at what I did next. Being too spineless to even speak to the girl and try to enjoy a friendly evening – I sent her a text from the pub toilets and said that I was ‘delayed’. I then squeezed myself through the smallest window you could imagine, clambered down a rusty fire escape and drove off into the distance.
I am awful.
I’d love your story of first dates. Get in touch below – and finish this sentence. “I knew the date was over when…”
I knew the date was over when...
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