Men, amongst being a myriad of other things (most of which are unprintable,) are like buses. After this week’s 8/10 date (a rating system is always good,) I found myself having another date last night after attending a conference.
It seems, as Kings of Leon so eloquently put it, MY SEX IS ON FIRE.
Five weeks without a date and now two in a row. Typical.
I’ve been talking to M for about a month. We’ve Skyped, had hour long conversations and to be honest, I’ve been unintentionally playing hard to get. I liked him but wasn’t quite sure whether I wanted to actually meet him and since starting my new job, I’ve not really had the time (or inclination) to meet anyone this last month. Hashtag – Can’t Be Arsed.
So, this conference happened this week and I realised I would have a couple of hours to spare afterwards. He’d kept in touch during the last month with occasional ‘Hang in there girl’ texts, (slightly annoying, but I think he meant well,) but he’d also promised to call a few times at specific times, and for one reason or another, hadn’t bothered/couldn’t make it.
I was a little confused because he seemed so keen but thought I’d see if he was around to meet for a drink – at least I’d know either way what I thought of him afterwards.
He picked me up after the conference and we walked around looking for a bar. Now I just happened to know that the Hoxton Hotel was nearby so we just happened to wander in that direction (wily creature that I am.) We talked all the way and I was on a high from a successful conference and an even more successful date the evening before.
It was just really comfortable being with him at first – like we’d known each other for ages type thing, but I just had this nagging ‘I’m just still not sure about you’ feeling about him. I couldn’t explain it. He was good looking, tall, dressed smartly and had a beautiful smile – but my sixth sense was a-pricklin’!
We went to the bar and he ordered two beers. We sat down on a sofa that was really far too low for someone of my … stature … (I immediately had visions of having to be winched out of the sofa – not sexy,) and we started chatting.
Now bearing in mind I’d turned up in a good mood, I’m not quite sure how what happened next, happened at all. He had specifically asked me why my last month had been so stressful and I said if he really wanted to know, I’d tell him. It was quite heavy, but it explained why I’d been pretty hard to get hold of. I went on to say that I just didn’t like being let down in general , thought it was thoroughly twatty and felt that by him not calling when he’d specified times when he would call, he’d let me down and it pissed me off a bit.
And that’s when he went ballistic.
I’ll just bullet point what he said:
- How dare I dump all of my negative bullshit on him on our first date. (Erm, he’d asked me to tell him what was wrong!)
- He has ‘shit going on’ but wouldn’t even dream about talking about it like I did. (Happy for people to actually be honest what’s going on in their lives – good or bad!)
- Because we hadn’t met before, it was ok to ‘let me down.’ (Erm, WTF? Is that an actual rule?!)
- Ergo, it was not OK for me to be pissed off about this. (Think you’ll find it was OK … PAL.)
- Why couldn’t I just be positive and talk about ‘nice’ things? (Because life’s not like that.)
- If I was holding such a grudge, why did I bother turning up? (I wasn’t holding a grudge – which is why I turned up!)
He kept on, and on … and on. I asked him why he was making such an argument out of a minor comment. I felt that I had the right to say that being let down pissed me off but that it wasn’t something I was dwelling on. It was a minor comment I made that just totally got his back up.
Me: “Look, you’ve made your point. We have a difference of opinion. You think it’s ok to dick people about. I think it’s rude. Please stop arguing with me and change the subject.”
Him: “Don’t tell me to what I can and can’t say. What, because you decide it’s the end of the conversation, we can’t keep talking about it?”
I was getting visibly upset/pissed off by now because you know what, I’d had enough of his bullshit attitude.
Me: “Look, either change the subject or I’m leaving.”
Him: “You wanted to change the subject. Barcelona. Let’s talk about that shall we?!”
Jesus, the man really was a prick.
I was so embarrassed that tears were threatening to fall down my face at any minute, that I did start talking about bloody Barcelona, just so that I wouldn’t cry in public.
I should have left. I know I should have left there and then, but as the conversation began to flow again there were no more signs of Mr Hyde and I wanted to leave the place with at least a bit of dignity intact.
The next half hour was spent with me avoiding all body contact, looking ahead most of the time and trying to make conversation – to which he kept replying, “Why do you ask that?” “What brought that on?” I was only asking if he liked his job!
I was in shock that he’d spoken to me with such venom. Was what I really said so out of order? I couldn’t stand it any more.
I went to the loo, came back and said I really needed to get back for my son so I would catch a cab outside the hotel. Thankfully, a cab arrived as soon as I got outside and with a quick peck on the cheek (from him) I was away.
He said I was a pressure cooker. That I needed a release. He kindly offered his services to me for said release. Said it would be, and I quote, “totally hot.”
And as he tightened his trousers to outline his mediocre boner, somehow, I think the answer will be a very, VERY firm no.