Wednesday was a hump day and for the first time in a long time, I was on time to work by 8am. Because of my excellent time management skills I was able to arrange for a tinder date at 5pm.
Date #7 was the first Irish guy I gave my number to off Tinder. I possibly had a case of overly built up anticipation for the luck of the Irish to make up for two one night stands I had on separate occasions where I was too intoxicated to even consider anything further than their Irish accents. Needless to say, I didn’t end up in a situation comparable to Gerard Butler in P.S I Love You but I held onto hope and remained optimistic that an Irish guy would eventually charm me and say just the way Gerry did in P.S I Love You “I know I should know this darling, but are you mad at me?”
Date #7 had a bio outlining that he was “Irish and new to Welly”with only two photos. One face shot of a nice looking boy and another of him with two friends holding a drink. The conversation started as most do, with a “Hello Melissa” and a smiley face on the end. I didn’t respond (because I’m a cold-hearted bitch) and he followed it up with a “I’m not very good at talking via Tinder so bear with me I’ll be a lot more charming”. So I gave him my number to be courted by an Irishman. Just like that.
Unfortunately his Hey 🙂 on the Saturday night and his Hey 😦 on the Monday night got old pretty quickly with no response and the chat wasn’t getting my blood pumping but there was a possibility that his shit Tinder chat could be compensated by a stellar personality so I finally responded.
We agreed to meet at 5pm at Plum Cafe on Cuba Street for an after work coffee as I was unenthused to do anything else with him based on his shit chat and a coffee can last as long as you choose to drink it. He texted me at 4.55pm to see if I was there yet and at 4.59pm I replied that I was walking there now ( lies, I was still at my desk)
I finally got to Plum at 5.09pm to meet Date #7 in the flesh. I was getting too accustomed to meeting strangers on the internet and simply said “Hey!” with a smile. He had a little bit of stubble, slightly sticking out ears and had comparatively close to the scalp short hair. He had already bought his own coffee by the time that I was there and needed to order my own. Perhaps it wasn’t an Irish thing to ask someone what they’re going to have if someone meets them there first and then sat down with my self-catered Chai Latte.
He was a Chef and like he indicated in his bio, was new to Wellington. He was currently staying in a hostel with two friends and worked nights. Within 15 minutes he had made weird references to the fact that I could drive him around Wellington since I had a car and during the 50 minute coffee date, he was looking at my chest for at least half of that time. I even asked him to look at me in the eyes at one point to which he replied “But they’re so big!”
During my Chai Latte, I asked Date #7 whether he had been to other countries “Nah, just NZ and the US”. Such a chatterbox, I could hardly get a word in. The conversation stooped to such tragic levels that he had to ask what my favourite colour and movie was. He had never seen Mean Girls.
When we said goodbye, it was fucking awkward. Turns out he had blown his flat viewing for this tinder date and seemed ultra keen for a second date. Little did he know that the date following this coffee date was a drink with another Irish Tinder guy.
He never heard from me again. The last text he sent me was
Date #7 “So date no 2 tomorrow?”
Date #7: “Or not”