After a short lunch with a short guy, I was in dire need of a stiff drink with someone who could hold a conversation and talk about more than the Greater Wellington region.
Enter, Date#10. A bit of backstory about Date#10 is that we had actually met in real life the night that I was dressing like Britney and acting like Ke$ha. I think we must have matched on Tinder before I deactivated prior to the 30 Day Challenge as we spoke in that classy establishment that rhymes with Pish Posh.
Because I decided to ditch Pish Posh to pash that short guy downstairs that fateful night, our paths never crossed again but we matched again on Tinder and even upgraded to Facebook friends to allow for maximum Facebook stalking (he friended me obvs). Since my success rate was still at 100% and I was getting a little sick of the “Hi! How was your day x”, I decided to simply demanded Date #10 to ask me out as I felt like I had nothing to lose except wasted conversation.
Me: “Are you going to ask me out for a drink or just wait until you see me in Mish Mosh again?”
Date #10: “Haha we can defo go for a drink when you are free? Ha back on Tinder I see”
Me: “I’m free Thursday or Friday”
Date #10: “Sweet as I can do either of those!!”
The classic double exclamation point. It always ends up making me less keen to pursue them since the double exclamation point means they’re either too keen or a psycho, so I ended up finding other entertainments (with other men) until he asked me to grab a drink the following Thursday. Yes, the same day as the short coffee with the short guy. I’m such a slut.
I suggested we meet at Fork and Brewer since it was close to my work at 5.15pm. He sent me a message at 5.17pm that he was running a few minutes (and I was still putting on make up to ensure I wasn’t the first one there) and I got there at around about 5.23pm.
He was already there with a beer in his hand, a move too similar to that of that first Irish guy the day before. The exception was that when I got there, he asked whether I wanted a drink and even though I was completely prepared to pay he kinda shooed my wallet away and took care of my $9.00 House Chardonnay. Woo!
When we sat down, my sober eyes got a better adjustment as when I was hammered I had assumed Date#10 was a babe and my drunken eyes thought that he looked like the gay love child of James Dean and Pierce Brosnan.
My drunken observation was slightly exaggerated, but not far off!. He was a babe! With muscles on his arms and shit. There was strong Dad-bod potential though, he seemed like he could let it all go as he aged and rock it ( A clear criteria for any long term potential – rank their Dad-Bod potential!)
Date#10 almost came across like there was a bad boy buzz about him, the kinda impression that would cause my Mum to warn me to stay away from and the type that would have been able to persuade underage me to send flirty text messages from my Nokia 2280. (Sorry Mum!)
That is possibly a heavily exaggerated suggestion, simply from his good-looks and slightly too cool vibe that he was already beginning to give me in the first five minutes. The conversation was pretty standard at the start, he was kind of from the Hutt and we bonded over our Hutt roots – which he was immediately defensive over since he only went to school out there. I used to deny being from the Hutt too, until I realised it gave me street cred and I could pull out the classic line of “You don’t me, you don’t know where I’ve been!” It also meant that I could wear ugg boots and trackpants with a pink hoodie in public “Because I’m from the Hutt”. Side-rant: There is something actually really special about the Hutt and no, its not Trevor Mallard. I genuinely love the people out there and only like, two of my teenage lovers who are from the Hutt have been arrested on drug or assault charges…
See Date #10 why would you even deny being from the Hutt having gone to school out there? It makes you who you are! Even though your Hutt education was from state integrated boy’s secondary school, that was really shit at debating, relatively close to a high risk security prison and I’m really hammering this Hutt part of your life up, don’t forget your roots.
We literally spoke about the Hutt for like 15 minutes since its my favourite topic of all time before we discussed what we’ve done with our lives. I talked about my degree and how my job is going and he talked about what he does for a living, how he lived in England and used to play club cricket over there and how he now lives in the Eastern suburbs of Wellington (Why don’t you move to the Hutt?) . Despite not having much to report about in terms of the conversation as it wasn’t completely deep and meaningful, but there was great banter. When he asked if I wanted a second drink, I said hell-yes because I was having a great time and I had also downed my wine incredibly quickly.
During the second wine, I offered him a lift to dinner since he was meeting a friend for dinner. I joked that he was meeting another Tinder date for dinner and he immediately denied it. I’m surprised he didn’t turn the joke back on me since I was unashamedly going on a dinner date to an incredibly nice restaurant at 7.30pm to mark my total number of Tinder dates that day to be three. See, told ya’ll that I’m such a slut!
As I had two glasses of cheap Chardonnay in the space of about an hour, I was feeling quite sassy and tipsy as a result during which I discovered as I was driving Date #10 to his next location. I made the cute and classic girl joke that I was just adorably bad driver.
We concluded the date with him extremely confused as to which Thai restaurant he was going to and as I pulled over to say good-bye, Date #10 engaged me into this kiss where there was a lot of pace and tongue for about fifteen seconds. Words couldn’t describe it more accurately but surprisingly, I was totally into it. I then drove off and cranked up my Beyoncé loud to hide my bad driving.