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.

 

Seriously.

 

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:       “Barcelona.”

 

Me:        “What??”

 

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.

 

 

 

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Published by Kate Sutton

Writer, Mother, Dater.

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