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Friday, March 14, 2008

First Date

Only a few days late.

So. Men. Dating. That's where we left off, didn't we? A little while ago, I went on a date with someone considerably younger than me, purely by accident because he looked a lot older on his... er, profile. Ahem. So as you can guess this date was doomed to disaster from the start. I'd never been under the full force of the ideals of youth before and it was utterly petrifying. "Oh I know I won't meet my future husband on something like this, but I do live in hope..." and a classic "Of course, if I had the chance, I'd abstain from sex til after I was married..." leaving me, almost fifteen years in the future thinking, good lord that'll soon get eroded to nothing, mate. There'll be a slow disintegration that'll leave you pointing your legs to Jesus as soon as a Gentleman Caller tips his hat in your direction.

The reason I say 'in the future' is I recall I used to have ideas like this. Where, in my head, I'd cook like Betty Crocker, and I look like Donna Reed. There'd be plastic on the furniture, to keep it neat and clean, in the Pine-Sol scented air somewhere that's green. I was always after my True Love every where I went until some kind lad took pity on me and walked me home one night, saying 'Look, men are usually cunts. Be careful. And don't look for Mr Right everywhere, he'll turn up when you need him'. Oh he was wise, that boy. Well, in all areas bar couture - his predilection for bolero jackets in the mid-nineties in somewhat backward Peterborough caused him to get a lot more aggro than he deserved.

Anyway, back to the date. "But I'm not all about staying in and reading Tolstoy and Proust," he said as I inwardly rolled my eyes. "I'm a demon on the dancefloor!"

More of a gargoyle I thought, and helped myself to more Goldslager. The only way that this was going to be any fun is if I got a little trollied and made a pass at him. What we charmingly called 'The Dance of the Seven Ales' back home - basically what you'd go through to get a gentleman before the Ugly Lights came on at the end of the night during the 2am bin scrape. Besides, it may be funny to try and bend his sensibilities to something a little more real before someone callous completely stamps all over his heart. I see it as community service. The dear thing needs to be armed in case some bastard tries to pretend they're ideal matrimonial material and then destroys him. Poor lamb.

Actually, I was a gentleman in the end, and packed him off onto the tube while he could still stand. Anyway, you see, as time goes on, I've discovered I like my Future Husband - who will turn up when I need him - to have a few miles on the clock. Indeed, I like my gentlemen like I like my cheese - mature.

What, you thought I was going to write something filthy in there? Like 'I like my men like I like my cheese - around my head of my nob'? I'm sorry but no, you keep your dirty ideals to yourself.

1 comment:

CyberPete said...

The dance of the seven ales


YAY for gentelmen