How Bad Can a Date Be?

The first sign that this was going to be a bad date was when it took him three weeks to take me out in public. Bedroom is fine. Kitchen I can deal with. Only coming over after dark… well he was busy during the day, ok?

 So with a romantic evening planned ahead I dawned on my patent heels and little black number. Hair straightened, perfume sprayed and make up perfected. A hot little piece of ass I thought I was.

Knock, knock on the door and a smile was greeted by:

“um, oh hi.. oh you still need time to change?’ from me.

“Nope bru, let’s vaai” from him.

Looking at this creature that God could’ve only created to humour me. It was standing in a wife beater, Baggy-Eminem-grab-your-crotch Jeans and…Slip slops. Slip slops. Slip slops.

Ok I can deal with this. Don’t Judge.

Enter Hemingways. After a drive that theoretically should’ve taken 15 mins to get there, we arrived (surprisingly not with a handbrake turn), in our parking in 4mins 32 secs.

The restaurant was small, cosy, romantic. Not for the trailer trash I was about to drag in. Chivalry died in the car.

Sit. Order. What would I like? Don’t worry you may order for yourself first. My turn? Bottle of Rose. Yes, One glass. Wow you are quite a pretty waitress aren’t you? And you are flirting with Mr Sloppy. Good girl! Buzz, buzz, buzz… phone vibrations in my pocket. Thank God! And as I was about to open up the ‘Get out of this date fast message’ he snatched my phone from me. Opened the window and put it on the landing outside. And closed the window again! Ha ha. Not funny Sloppy.

“Please give my phone back”

“Uh, no”

“Seriously, give it back”

“That was very rude of you to take your phone out when you have company, sweetheart”

Oh I am sorry ‘sweetheart’ I don’t think I got the memo that this was a polite date and that the company I kept even knew what a cellphone was, Bru.

Silence.

Sloppy, “ If you want it, go fetch it yourself.”

Under breath, ”Wanker.”

Dinner. Good. Besides taking 15mins to pay the bill and only to be described as ‘sloppy flirting’ with the pretty waitress.

Post dinner we scumbled off to a gig that was happening down the road. Enter me and with a quick “I am going to find my friends” goodbye, I put on my speed shoes. Only to be found 30 mins later with an arm grab and a welcoming:

“Where the hell have you been? You are my date tonight and you will stay by my side the whole night. Now lets go. We are meeting my chinas for drinks.”

Dragged by the upper arm I shuffled to the car.

Cubana. A smart place. Dress shoes and collars only. Yet he gave every bouncer a full swing of his sick puppies. With the foul language and bat swings with which much to my humorless self was quite funny. He did not give up. He even used the Girlfriend card:

“Can’t you see my Girlfriend wants a drink? I want to talk to the manager”

At that point the bouncer even offered to drive me home. Bless him. And so stupid was I to say no.

And that night ended with a ‘friendly’ punch on the arm for not paying attention to him at another bar and a (finally) persuasive “lets go home” from me.

In the parking lot of his place.

“You coming up?”

“ Fuck off.”

Seriously.