If you haven’t read blogs #9 and #10, you wouldn’t know that all these dates and the one you’re about to read about happened on the same fateful Thursday. I was exhausted and running quite late for my third and final date of the night with a glass of red in my hand, finger on the pulse ordering an Uber, smearing make up on my face, changing my dress and pretending to look ‘fresh faced’ and ‘awake’ despite being jaded, tipsy, and feeling more like Ke$ha and less like Bey.
Date #11 and I had been in conversation since April before I had deleted Tinder during which time we made the Facebook friend commitment. He was extremely nice, non creepy and had a good selection of Facebook and Tinder photos. He was also from the Hutt after being overseas working for quite some time.
Date #11 had wished me a happy birthday in May and even remembered what we talked about before I deleted Tinder as he then asked about my recent trip to Melbourne. After that, we matched again on Tinder a couple of days later and he asked me out for dinner at Boulcott Street Bistro within a few days.
I was overly keen (which hopefully wasn’t too transparent) as I had heard such great things and it was a bold move to suggest a sit down meal at a nice restaurant with someone you’ve never met before in real life. I found it incredibly chivalrous and I immediately respected him for it, even though I was going with the expectation that I would totally pay half at the end (because I am a single independent woman who no need no man). Date #11 seemed to have his shit together, possibly because guys in their early 30’s have better things to do with their time than getting high over the weekend and getting drunk in Apartment Bar (I’m not dissing anyone, I’ll see ya’ll there this weekend!). Never the less, despite my initial enthusiasm, I found myself becoming drained from this weird, almost addiction of setting up dates with other guys so in hindsight I was blind at how incredible this guy actually was in comparison.
I was running 20 minutes late, it was 45 minutes since I had pashed Date #10 in the Barina, and I had already consumed four glasses of wine. I was rushing across the road up the street in my baby slut heels when an older guy had stopped me, having spotted me running.
Silver Fox: “Cold night huh”
Me: “Isn’t it!”
Silver Fox: “It’s not as cold back home”
Me: “Where are you from?”
Silver Fox: “Perth, I’m just here for business.”
He had just dined at Boulcott Street Bistro with colleagues and was about to go back to his apartment. I asked what he recommended to eat. I’m naturally probably on the flirty side which prompted the silver fox to ask if I would like to go into the Bistro for a drink after initially I said I was meeting a friend for dinner. I had to then confessed that I was actually about to go on a date and since I didn’t think Date#11 would appreciate a plus one a threesome wasn’t really going to be on the horizon for that night. The Silver Fox asked me for my number, which I obliged and he suggested we catch up for a drink another night.
When I finally got into Boulcott Street Bistro I was so grateful it had this fancy dining mood lighting as my cheeks were burning from the four glasses of wine, the urgent rush to get there and the brief five minute encounter with the silver fox. Date #11 was as lovely in real life as he was online. He was tall, slim, had strong features with the sweetest smile and he seemed relatively relaxed and not offended that I was tardy for our dinner.
I hope he didn’t realise how casually tipsy I was. He didn’t seem to notice, as we had never met before. Date #11 had an interesting life and only just came back to New Zealand after living overseas for quite some time launching his business. Suuuuch prospects. It was hard to not come across like we weren’t on our first date to our waiter who seemed overly keen to judge us (seriously, he reminded me of this guy below. I couldn’t tell if he was foreign or from Hamilton). I ordered after recommendations from the Silver Fox – the Roasted Lamb Rack with wild mushroom & shallot stew, confit potato & root vegetable tian. Yeah, buddy!
The food didn’t take long to come out, that or I was remarkably quick to drink my wine and engrossed about life and love with this guy. When the food I came out, it became harder for me to maintain class since I was on wine #5 and wasn’t in any position or mood to stop drinking. I dropped my fork, then knife, on the floor about four times and scrapped my fork on the plate loudly at least twice like the classy Hutt girl I am.
We weren’t going to have dessert, but then we did and Date #11 excused himself politely to pay the bill. This guy was a gentleman. If I wasn’t doing 30 dates in 30 days, I would have been blown away by how charming he was and probably waited by the phone for him to call. He was tall, good-looking and seemingly intelligent. There sadly wasn’t anything bad to report, or I was too tipsy to even recall.
At the end of the date, he offered me a ride home. I declined and said I would get an Uber and refused to let him walk me down to the end of the street to get one (because I am an independant woman who no need no man). He kissed me on the cheek and then I tottered down Willis Street tipsy off on another adventure.