A Date with Ms London
Following on from the disaster that was the Sambuca saga, I decided to do a couple of things. Firstly, I wanted to wait a while before I went on a date with someone. Secondly, I figured I should probably think about some of the things Sambuca had said to me – but only because a friend (or two) agreed that he might’ve had a point (or two.)
“You do tend to flutter off and forget about people,” one said. Let’s call him James. “And you did say no to Sambuca for a year.”
I wanted to punch James. Just briefly. But what’s the point in asking for someone’s opinion if you’re just going to punch them when they give it to you?
Also, it was a fair point.
I do flutter off. I do forget about people. I did say no to Sambuca for a year.
Ah, shit.
“You should try saying yes instead of no if you like them,” James went on to say.
So, somewhat begrudgingly, that’s what I decided to do. There’s no point in making the same mistakes over and over again, is there?
Enter Ms London.
London is a friend-of-a-friend, and we’d hung out in a larger group a handful of times. I thought she was cute, but a) I was “with” Sambuca, and b) I didn’t know that she was queer. I had an inkling, but I wasn’t going to assume, ya know.
A mutual friend brought up her sexuality in a jokey way at one of the larger gatherings – and it felt like a deliberate (and somewhat clumsy) matchmaking attempt. It did the trick, though. An hour or so later, I found myself alone in the kitchen with London.
“Come to mine? I could make you dinner?” she said. It was so casual, so cool.
“I’d love that!” I quickly answered. James’ words were ringing in my ears: You should try saying yes instead of no if you like them.
Fast-forward less than a week and the big day had arrived. I was nervous, but super excited to flirt with someone again. And well, you know… if the date went well, maybe I could finally end my sex drought. Dressed all cute, hair done, makeup slapped on, perfume spritzed, and with butterflies fluttering in my stomach, off I went.
London was most of the way through her first bottle of wine when I arrived. She also offered me a glass. Sigh. I’d told her at least twice that I was teetotal, but hey, I could forgive her for forgetting.
At the beginning of the evening my attraction to her was at a steady eight out of ten. Over the course of the next two hours, though, it dramatically decreased.
One bottle of wine turned into two. Her phone made a very frequent appearance. Mine didn’t leave my bag. Dinner was delicious, and she had at least remembered that I was a vegetarian. We laughed a bit and chit-chatted about mutual friends and this n’ that. It wasn’t long before the conversation turned to hobbies.
“What do you like to do when you’re not working or on nephew duty?” London asked.
“I love the night sky, using my telescope, photography,” I replied. “I’m looking into quantum entanglement right now, too.”
“Oh, yeah, I use a MacBook,” she said.
I guess she thought I meant Intel Pentium, or something, but I couldn’t stop myself laughing. She didn’t laugh with me, but she did tap-tap-tap away on her phone. My attraction to her was now at a seven. Barely.
It dropped to a five when she later said, “Oh, I don’t believe in medicine.”
“What do you mean, you don’t believe in medicine?” I blurted out.
“Well, doctors and that, they’re trying to get you hooked on all sorts of drugs, aren’t they? Fitness is the way forward. Taking care of your body.”
Fuck’s sake.
“I’ve got Graves’ Disease,” I told her. “I could have a stroke without my meds.”
“Maybe you should come to the gym with me?” She guzzled down the last of her glass of wine.
I wanted to ask her; do we get drunk before the gym? Something told me, it probably wasn’t a good idea. I also hate the gym. I’d rather run around the streets than sit on a machine that someone else’s ass crack’s been sweating on.
Side note: how fucking healthy is two bottles of WINE?!
Four out of ten… and dropping dramatically.
I helped clear the table. No dessert? Not even a Vienetta? Three out of ten.
When London tapped away on her phone for the entire time I was filling the dishwasher, I’d had enough. I wasn’t having fun. She was hot and sometimes funny, but she didn’t get me at all. She didn’t find me funny, nor did she understand half the things I talked about.
Zero out of ten. We are not compatible. Time for me to go home.
“I’ve had a great night,” I said. “But I think it’s time for me to head off.”
London didn’t argue, and I was thankful for that. In all honesty, I think the date had been just as blah for her as it had been for me. A day or so afterwards, the awkward text exchange happened.
Yeah, I don’t think we want the same things. I had fun, though!
Not bad for my first date in nine years, I guess.
Better luck next time!
Thanks so much for reading my blog today! 🖤
If you’re in the market for something a lil’ spicier, why not check out one of my smutty favourites:
Discover more from NotSoSexintheCity
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
