Wednesday, 27 October 2010

Cilla Black never prepared me for such a bad blind date.

I guess a date could never start out right when the man involved texts you around half an hour before about the fact that he didn't realise you were ginger. But I'm afraid it was too late for this poor sucker to get out of the date, as he was already on the train.

A few weeks ago, I left my number on the bill and gave it to the waiter at a restaurant I visited. Never expecting a text, or any form of communication, me and my mum laughed about it for a good few hours. Until I got a text and I was absolutley flabbergasted ( <-- I love that word). And a week later, it turned out that I had a date.

As my mum pulled up at the train station, I couldn't exactly remember what he looked like, apart from the fact I knew he was fit. Which left me staring at the boy who had been waiting for me for half an hour, trying to work out whether I could of pulled something who was that unbelievably gorgeous. So I hid myself round the corner and acted shocked as he said my name (And even after 10 or more years of acting classes I still couldn't act the right amount of shocked and, as I recall my face must of looked like he had just shot a kitten).

As he had never visited my area, I agreed to 'show him the city', which only really sounds good when your living in a film in New York. And after 20 minutes of nervous conversation on my part, I had shown him 'the city'. At which point we decided to go to the cinema. But OH NO! my life is such a failure that we ended up seeing some French film, which was based on the animated characters from the Cravendale Milk adverts.

At this point you would think that things couldn't get any better. You'd be wrong. ( But you would be right to detect sarcasm)
After 75 minutes of painful watching, and not evan a cheeky yawn/arm round me, I had already given up hope of ever being able to talk in a sane way to him, and we walked back to the train station. It actually got slightly better, we had a conversation, and I felt a little more at ease.
Then it came to the goodbye. The worst part of any date, and this was the worst date in history!
It involved him going into the train station and me getting into a taxi. My exact words were 'Ermm, Im gonna get that taxi. Thankyou' and with a half-hearted hug, he said something along the lines of it being 'good'. A lie, if I ever did hear one. And I got into a taxi and never looked back at him and I sobbed, to which the taxi driver asked what was a matter, and I replied 'My dog has been run over'
I have never had a dog. I have no idea where that came from. But that excuse sounded alot better to me than admitting my failure as a woman.

As it goes I really dont know what the hell happened to me. I was faced with an absolutley gorgeous lad, with a really sexy accent, and I couldn't string two words together that didn't make me sound like an absolute wierdo. He was absolutley lovely. I wasn't myself at all. All my outgoing personality got locked up in a box inside me, and all the way throughout the date, was kicking and screaming to come out.

And now, whilst drowning my sorrows, it's made me think: why do our personalities change around certain people? Why do someones looks determine how we treat them, and act around them? And why is it when faced with everything you want, something happens for you too throw it all away.

As it goes, it probably wasn't meant to be. I mean I would love to be able to wipe the slate clean with him, so I could be myself, if I was too ever see him again. But as I have now deleted his number, it is totally in his hands. Something of which I am alot more comfortable with.

Ahh well it wasn't all bad to be honest, as he started out by complimenting me on my blogs, which for me, makes me happier than anyone ever saying I look nice, or even falling in love.

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