I am feeling somewhat less ranty now and haven't had too bad a weekend so far. I kept myself occupied on Saturday by attempting to shop for Christmas presents, and have spent time on my job application today.
Anyway, as I'm in the mood for writing and there is for once nothing I'm feeling particularly sad, annoyed, fed-up etc about I thought I'd start telling you about my dating history. It won't take long, as I have only been on two actual dates in my life. Both were a few years ago and resulted from me joining a dating agency. This was in the days before online dating took off and entailed me filling in a paper questionnaire asking all about me, my education, my job, my politics, my religion, my appearance, my "hobbies and interests" and what I was looking for in a man.
The all about me bit was quite easy. The what I'm looking for in a man, less so. If I've never had a boyfriend, how do I know what sort of qualities I would want in one? I came up with something and the agency then plugged all of that information into a computer and matched me with various men whose details they sent to me. From the first lot of matches I received I only really liked the sound of one guy. I'll call him Stalker Guy, for reasons which will become clear. They gave me his name, phone number and address, so me being me, I wrote him a letter. Yup, that's right, a proper old-fashioned letter, handwritten in pen, on actual paper, folded into an envelope and put into the post-box. I just couldn't face phoning a complete stranger and trying to hold a conversation.
I had put my phone number on the letter and he called quite soon. I surprised myself by managing to speak back to him and we arranged to meet in a bar the following week. In case we couldn't find each other I told him what car I drove, which turned out later to have been a big mistake.
We met, had a drink, asked each other questions and talked. It wasn't a horrible evening but neither was it wonderful. There were no sparks, not much laughter and I just didn't click with him. I would probably describe it "okay". I didn't think I really wanted to see him again, but thought if he asked I would say yes, just so I had given things a proper chance. We left the bar and as we walked to our cars I realised that he had parked next to mine. He then tried, a little too keenly I felt, to get me to go back to his for coffee. The conversation proceeded thus:
Stalker Guy: Would you like to come back to my place for coffee?
Did he really just ask me that? Does he mean coffee or something more? How do you know if it means something more? I've only just met him, no waaay am I going back for coffee.
Me: No thanks, I have to be up early for work tomorrow.
Stalker Guy: You don't have to stay late.
Me: No, really, I do have to get up early for work, and I'm quite tired.
Stalker Guy: Go on, just come back for one coffee.
He's being a little too pushy, I'm not sure I like this. Why can't he just take no for an answer?
Me: I'm sorry I really can't, I am really tired.
I get into my car.
Stalker Guy: So when can I see you again?
I really don't want to see him again...but I can't just tell him that can I?
Me: Erm, I'm quite busy the next couple of weeks, I'll give you a call. (I can't just drive off now, that would be rude. What else can I say?) Or I could email you? What's your email address?
He gets a pen and piece of paper, writes something on it and hands it to me through the car window. It's illegible.
Me: I can't quite read it, what's that letter?
He walks round to the other side of the car, opens the door and gets in.
Crap, why did I not lock the door?
He takes the piece of paper off me and tells me what it says. And then, completely out of the blue, with no warning or build up, he leans over (actually probably better described as he launches himself at me) and kisses me. And not a nice, exploratory, do-you-want-to-kiss-me-back sort of kiss (obviously I'm imagining here how a kiss might start). No, he went straight for the full on, tongue and everything kiss. I was stunned. Oh dear God he's kissing me....I should kiss him back.. but I'm not sure how. I make a vague effort to join in with the kiss. I'm not actually enjoying this. At all. It feels pretty horrible...I want it to stop... How do I make him stop? I stop trying to kiss him back and manage to pull away from him. He makes a few comments about how pretty my hair is while stroking it. I feel slightly sick. I tell him again that I really need to go home. All the time I'm wondering what the hell I do if he won't get out of my car. Luckily he does. I say goodbye and drive off, going in the opposite direction from home.
I drove to a very public car park, stopped the car and cried. I then called my best friend and told her all about it. I think what I was most upset about was that he had ruined my first kiss, by making it so awful. She calmed me down and I eventually went home.
Over the next few days I got numerous texts and a few lengthy voicemails from him, saying what a lovely time he'd had, how much he liked me and how he hoped to see me again soon. Either he hadn't noticed the lack of spark and that I had hated the kiss, or for some reason he still thought he might get me into bed. If only he knew.....I ignored him for a while then finally sent a text saying I'd had a nice time but that I didn't feel that we were right for each other. That night I was woken by a strange text from him and when I went out to my car later the next day I found it had been vandalised. It was obviously him. I remembered that I had mentioned the area I lived in, and of course he knew what car I owned. I reported it to the police and gave them his name and asked my flatmates to be careful who they let into the flat. I couldn't sleep properly for the next couple of weeks but I heard nothing more from him.
So all in all, it was pretty disastrous first ever date. At the time it felt pretty traumatic, but looking back and having heard and read about other women's dating experiences, it seems like just a particularly bad date (except for the vandalised car part of the tale).
For a while I was upset and angry and disappointed and disillusioned, but I made myself contact someone else from my list of matches. I knew I needed to try again, to go on another date to prove to myself that not all men were going to turn crazy on me. And that date, although also unsuccessful, was thankfully, much less eventful.
