I must be THE most optimistic person I know.  Don’t worry, I even irritate myself.  You see my faith in the opposite sex remains resolutely (mildly) positive.  As much as it wanes after each time I’m let down, overall, I still believe there’s someone out there for me.  Which is mental really as I do nothing but complain about the douchebags.  It’s because I’m a Libran – romantic at heart.  I blame the parents.

 

Still … gotta be in it to win it (although I’m not quite sure what ‘it’ is yet,) and I found myself talking to someone this week that I’d actually dated (albeit only once,) last year.  We had gotten on well before but life got in the way and I just didn’t get round to seeing him again.

 

He was understandably devastated … but got back in touch as he’d become single again.

 

We picked up where we left off and he texted every day asking how I was, telling me what he’d been up to, what he and his son were doing during the holidays.  Lots of, “How you doing gorgeous?”  and reminiscing about our first date.   I’d met him before.  I figured he was kosher.  So I agreed to go out with him on Sunday night.

 

He told me how much he was looking forward to Sunday.  I booked a babysitter and he said he’d pick me up at 7.30pm and take me out.

 

All sounds great right?

 

And here is where I want to punch someone in the throat (preferably him,) because at 4.30pm on Sunday afternoon … THREE hours before we were meant to meet … he sent this:

 

 

Now part of me is just relieved he actually told me.  At least I didn’t get stood up in the pub (again.)  But the other part of me is wondering why the hell he bothered talking to me in the first place?  What an absolutely waste of my time!  I really don’t care if he’s met someone else – fill your boots sunshine – but it’s the whole stringing someone along and then cancelling right before the date thing I can’t stand.  Such a pain in the arse.

 

So, what to do?

 

First of all, I obviously text my best friend.  After the obligatory slagging off, in the end, I think we were both most vex that he finished his text by saying ‘Take care x.

 

What a tit.

 

Secondly, I debated whether to cancel my babysitter but thought sod it.  I am going to go out even it’s to the old man’s pub down the road on my own.  (Not that I’ve ever done that.  Oh no.  Not.  At.  All.  Nope.  Not me.)   But then I had a cunning plan.

 

I’d actually been speaking to someone else on and off for about a month and so I messaged him to see if he was free that night.

 

He was!  Result.

 

Take that knobhead.  (God, I’m so mature.  You wouldn’t believe I’m a 42 year old mother of two.)

 

Anyway … to cut a long story short, this new guy was coming from Essex, he text to say he’d left at 6.15pm, he turned up to the pub early  … that’s EARLY …. and I met him there at 7.30pm.

 

He’s 29 … (high five anyone?) and we had a really nice evening.  Felt a bit like an interview at times mind you with all the questions but I put that down to nerves.  He was just making a real effort to make conversation and I thought it was kinda sweet.  (Bloody Librans.)

 

BUT … I just don’t think we’re really in the same place as each other right now.  (“It’s not you, it’s me.”)  Such a cliché but true.

 

Still, I thought I should just make sure … always wise to double check these things, so I asked him back to mine where we could get to know each other a little … ‘better.’

 

(Believe me … if you had a leopard print sofa, you wouldn’t want it to go to waste either.)

 

We chatted for a bit.  Hell, I even made him a cup of tea.  Talk about hostess with the mostess … (awww yeah!)

 

As we talked, he started stroking … my arm (you dirty lot!) … and said how beautiful my eyes were.  I know, I know … but I’m a sucker for a little sweet talk.  To be fair, he’d been really complimentary all night and seemed genuine.  (Ha, don’t they all!)

 

And then he made his move.

 

I love this bit … when you’re nervous but excited.  You don’t know whether the kiss is going to be awful … or amazing.

 

And …..

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

… it was probably somewhere between the two.  Which, considering some of the diabolical kisses I’ve had in the past, was just fine by me.

 

He was very sexy.  Tall, neat short beard (gotta love a beard,) two full sleeve tattoos (not everyone’s cup of tea but suffice to say I’m a fan,) and, most importantly, he smelt real good.

 

What happened next?  Well, I had to be up early for work so I had an early night.

 

On my own of course ….. 🙂

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Published by Kate Sutton

Writer, Mother, Dater.

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