So, after Mr. A's uber romantic response to my (not so) bat-shit crazy text message, which basically said 'Yes, I also think we should hang out, how about later in the week?' I went into a tail spin. He also thinks that we should hang out together? This was not what I had prepared myself for.
I have a tendency to always imagine the Worst Case Scenario. I reason that it makes it easier when rejection inevitably comes. It really doesn't, but at least I'm somewhat mentally prepared, even if that preparation leads to me feel like a crazy person for a brief period of time.
So when the Worst Case scenario doesn't eventuate, I don't really know what to do with myself. I don't know how to respond, or how to behave. I get even more nervous, if that's possible.
But, enough about me, let's get to the point, which is, of course, the most Awkward 'date' ever. EVER. I have been on worse dates, but none with this level of nervousness, anxiety and awkwardness, and that was just him.
He offered me two alternatives for 'hanging out.' We could either go on a comedic walking tour that his (kind of famous) uncle was doing on Sunday, or drinks one night through the week. I thought strategically, and reasoned that doing a walking tour with a family member and loads of of other strangers might not be the best first date. But I still wanted to go. So I suggested that I might be a little hungover on the Sunday, and that perhaps we should just do drinks and then see how I was feeling on Sunday morning.
The drinks were after work, and I had made plans to grab a drink with Shaz before the date started, as we tend to finish a little earlier than Mr. A. The plan was in place, I was going to look gorgeous, and be funny and awesome. He would have no choice but to make out with me immediately.
Then, things started going wrong, or at least not as planned.
Firstly, I ran into him in the street whilst on my lunch break. I did not look particularly glamorous at this juncture. I was carrying bags full of food for an afternoon tea and looked hurried. We greeted each other awkwardly, and he started talking about how stressed he was at work, and how he was also really stressed because he has been watching Game of Thrones (that's right, he was really grasping at straws for any sort of Conversation at this stage). Luckily I like Game of Thrones, so was able to make conversation about this. I ended it by saying 'Weeellllllll, I'm seeing you tonight, so..... yeah...' He told me he would finish work at 6 and that we would meet then. Seemed like a good deal.
I finished work at about 5:30 and went to the pub with Shaz. 6:15 rolled around. No word from Mr. A. I decided not to panic. I sent a text asking him if we were meeting at work or at the bar. No response. I started to panic.
Shaz had to leave me at about 6:40 to get home for a family dinner. I decided that the best course of action was to go to the best friend's, give Mr. A another twenty minutes, and then possibly cry a little. I started walking, and was filled with rage. I called the best friend and asked if I could come over. She said yes, so I continued my angry march towards her place.
At 6:45 I got a deeply apologetic text message from Mr. A, saying that he had only just got back to his desk, and that if I was still around he could meet me at the bar. I sucked up as much of my anger as I could and agreed to meet him. I got to the bar and HE. WASN'T. THERE.
At this point, words cannot describe my ire. The King of Emotional Fuckwittery used to be constantly late, and it killed me, as I'm incredibly punctual. I sent another text to make sure he wasn't waiting for me inside. He wasn't.
I saw him in the distance and had to make a physical and mental adjustment to greet him politely. I unfolded my tightly folded arms, and took off my bitch face (also known as 'duck face') as quickly as I could. I smiled and greeted him. I'm pretty sure he went in for a kiss on the cheek, but I'm not accustomed to this from him, so we awkwardly hugged instead. He explained why he was late, he had had to attend a training session, which he thought was going to end at 6:00. It didn't. And his phone was at his desk. And he was sitting next to his boss with no discernible point of escape. I decided that this was an acceptable excuse, especially because his words really conveyed the panic he had felt at being trapped there, and I didn't want to make it any worse by being a bitch.
We then had to walk up what seemed like fifty flights of stairs to get to the bar. By the time we reached the top of those stairs I looked even less glamorous than I had on the street that day, and I desperately needed a drink, which he rushed to get.
The conversation was not particularly bad, although a little heavy on sex (mainly because we talked about lots of different television programs we liked, and all of them seemed to have an element of soft core porn). We had a few awkward conversational moments, but I think that for the most part it was fine. He got dinner, which we shared (and by shared, I mean I picked at a few chips and took two bites of a burger. On a side note, every time I've seen him, I've been unable to eat anything, mainly because I've eaten a huge amount of food prior to seeing him, or am just too nervous to stomach anything. He probably thinks I'm one of those weird girls who won't eat in front of guys. I'm definitely not).
The awkwardness ramped up a notch when we changed locations. We went to a bar downstairs for another drink and sat at a table that happened to have small tablecloths all over it. Mr. A immediately started folding the table cloths. It was one of the most distracting things I have ever seen. But I tried not to focus on it, and instead focused on our conversation. Then something happened and I couldn't contain myself any more. He put his entire hand and half his arm under the tablecloths. I burst into laughter, and he immediately whipped his hand out from under the linen, with a hasty explanation of why he had decided it was a good idea.
We left not long after that, and I asked him how late I could leave it to buy a ticket to the tour on Sunday. He told me he could get a ticket. But then said 'You're probably not going to come though, are you?' I said 'I probably will.' And he said that he didn't think I would. We hugged goodbye and I went home to experience very mixed feelings, and also to call my friends, whilst lying in a tight ball of frustration, to see what they thought.
As I said before, I've had much worse dates. This one was just very anxious and awkward, which are two things that I am beginning to realise Mr. A epitomises. But I still enjoyed his company thoroughly, in spite of the awful start to the date, and my inability to keep myself together when it came to awkward table cloth antics. I think it's mostly because, well, I really like him.
Hoping this isn't just another dating disaster story,
B. J. Barnes
I have a tendency to always imagine the Worst Case Scenario. I reason that it makes it easier when rejection inevitably comes. It really doesn't, but at least I'm somewhat mentally prepared, even if that preparation leads to me feel like a crazy person for a brief period of time.
So when the Worst Case scenario doesn't eventuate, I don't really know what to do with myself. I don't know how to respond, or how to behave. I get even more nervous, if that's possible.
But, enough about me, let's get to the point, which is, of course, the most Awkward 'date' ever. EVER. I have been on worse dates, but none with this level of nervousness, anxiety and awkwardness, and that was just him.
He offered me two alternatives for 'hanging out.' We could either go on a comedic walking tour that his (kind of famous) uncle was doing on Sunday, or drinks one night through the week. I thought strategically, and reasoned that doing a walking tour with a family member and loads of of other strangers might not be the best first date. But I still wanted to go. So I suggested that I might be a little hungover on the Sunday, and that perhaps we should just do drinks and then see how I was feeling on Sunday morning.
The drinks were after work, and I had made plans to grab a drink with Shaz before the date started, as we tend to finish a little earlier than Mr. A. The plan was in place, I was going to look gorgeous, and be funny and awesome. He would have no choice but to make out with me immediately.
Then, things started going wrong, or at least not as planned.
Firstly, I ran into him in the street whilst on my lunch break. I did not look particularly glamorous at this juncture. I was carrying bags full of food for an afternoon tea and looked hurried. We greeted each other awkwardly, and he started talking about how stressed he was at work, and how he was also really stressed because he has been watching Game of Thrones (that's right, he was really grasping at straws for any sort of Conversation at this stage). Luckily I like Game of Thrones, so was able to make conversation about this. I ended it by saying 'Weeellllllll, I'm seeing you tonight, so..... yeah...' He told me he would finish work at 6 and that we would meet then. Seemed like a good deal.
I finished work at about 5:30 and went to the pub with Shaz. 6:15 rolled around. No word from Mr. A. I decided not to panic. I sent a text asking him if we were meeting at work or at the bar. No response. I started to panic.
Shaz had to leave me at about 6:40 to get home for a family dinner. I decided that the best course of action was to go to the best friend's, give Mr. A another twenty minutes, and then possibly cry a little. I started walking, and was filled with rage. I called the best friend and asked if I could come over. She said yes, so I continued my angry march towards her place.
At 6:45 I got a deeply apologetic text message from Mr. A, saying that he had only just got back to his desk, and that if I was still around he could meet me at the bar. I sucked up as much of my anger as I could and agreed to meet him. I got to the bar and HE. WASN'T. THERE.
At this point, words cannot describe my ire. The King of Emotional Fuckwittery used to be constantly late, and it killed me, as I'm incredibly punctual. I sent another text to make sure he wasn't waiting for me inside. He wasn't.
I saw him in the distance and had to make a physical and mental adjustment to greet him politely. I unfolded my tightly folded arms, and took off my bitch face (also known as 'duck face') as quickly as I could. I smiled and greeted him. I'm pretty sure he went in for a kiss on the cheek, but I'm not accustomed to this from him, so we awkwardly hugged instead. He explained why he was late, he had had to attend a training session, which he thought was going to end at 6:00. It didn't. And his phone was at his desk. And he was sitting next to his boss with no discernible point of escape. I decided that this was an acceptable excuse, especially because his words really conveyed the panic he had felt at being trapped there, and I didn't want to make it any worse by being a bitch.
We then had to walk up what seemed like fifty flights of stairs to get to the bar. By the time we reached the top of those stairs I looked even less glamorous than I had on the street that day, and I desperately needed a drink, which he rushed to get.
The conversation was not particularly bad, although a little heavy on sex (mainly because we talked about lots of different television programs we liked, and all of them seemed to have an element of soft core porn). We had a few awkward conversational moments, but I think that for the most part it was fine. He got dinner, which we shared (and by shared, I mean I picked at a few chips and took two bites of a burger. On a side note, every time I've seen him, I've been unable to eat anything, mainly because I've eaten a huge amount of food prior to seeing him, or am just too nervous to stomach anything. He probably thinks I'm one of those weird girls who won't eat in front of guys. I'm definitely not).
The awkwardness ramped up a notch when we changed locations. We went to a bar downstairs for another drink and sat at a table that happened to have small tablecloths all over it. Mr. A immediately started folding the table cloths. It was one of the most distracting things I have ever seen. But I tried not to focus on it, and instead focused on our conversation. Then something happened and I couldn't contain myself any more. He put his entire hand and half his arm under the tablecloths. I burst into laughter, and he immediately whipped his hand out from under the linen, with a hasty explanation of why he had decided it was a good idea.
We left not long after that, and I asked him how late I could leave it to buy a ticket to the tour on Sunday. He told me he could get a ticket. But then said 'You're probably not going to come though, are you?' I said 'I probably will.' And he said that he didn't think I would. We hugged goodbye and I went home to experience very mixed feelings, and also to call my friends, whilst lying in a tight ball of frustration, to see what they thought.
As I said before, I've had much worse dates. This one was just very anxious and awkward, which are two things that I am beginning to realise Mr. A epitomises. But I still enjoyed his company thoroughly, in spite of the awful start to the date, and my inability to keep myself together when it came to awkward table cloth antics. I think it's mostly because, well, I really like him.
Hoping this isn't just another dating disaster story,
B. J. Barnes
