I wrote this weekend about how I went out on Friday night with my best friend and that I’m never drinking again. (The beer with my Sunday roast was lush though.)
We had a great night but I wasn’t particularly in the mood to mix with the opposite sex. A first for me, granted, but I was happy to sit at a table with my friend and put the world to rights like only best friends can. It had been a tough week. However, as we were catching up, a group of three men came and stood by us.
“Don’t. Look. Round,” she mouthed at me. (Like the old Flora advert.)
“What?” I said, looking round.
“Oh my God. It’s him. It’s him!” she whispered very loudly.
“That footballer. You know. The one who wouldn’t leave my house. The one who wanted to know what was in my fridge.”
“The manchild that wanted you to record Match of the Day for him?” I asked.
“Oh. My. God,” we replied in unison.
It took all my strength not to turn round again because quite frankly, after his behaviour at my friend’s house, I was ready to bitch slap him right upside his twatty little head. (And if you want to read about the sheer hideousness of her date, you can read it here) But I didn’t. Instead, we did our best to ignore them. In fact, we weren’t even sure if he remembered her, but that’s what you get having an IQ less than 20.
Thankfully, they moved on to their next victims and we got back to talking about being a lady on the street, and a freak in the bed (we are SO mature,) and ended up having a great evening with our Britney microphones made out of straws. Normal.
However, half an hour before we left, I got a text from a guy who I had spoken to weeks before but decided not to meet. He had been overly keen (such a turn-off,) and the photo he sent me of him at the gym made him look like a pre-pubescent schoolboy. Not a good look.
“Were you just in the Railway?” he texted.
Oh crap. I was still there!
And then it clicked. Holy six degrees of separation Batgirl, he was the footballer’s brother!
It all fell into place and I was equally mortified that he’d recognised me in public, thankful he’d chosen not to speak to me and relieved that, considering who his brother was, I had followed my gut instinct and chosen not to meet him.
I don’t know if he knew at the time we were talking that his brother was talking to my friend and that was all part of the ‘plan.’ Plausible, but I don’t care either way. I was just weirded out that my ‘internet dating’ life had crossed over into real life.
This was brought home further by the fact that when I got home and checked my dating messages briefly before bed, there was a message from a man I’d never spoken to before saying, “Were you in the Railway tonight?”
For God’s sake.
I didn’t know whether to be flattered I’d been ‘recognised’ again or just plain embarrassed. It’s not that I keep my dating life a secret (obviously,) but my two worlds don’t normally collide like this. It was pretty scary if I’m honest because on the rare occasion I go out I like to think that I’m pretty anonymous.
But apparently, I’m no longer anonymous. And I’m not sure I like it.