The HOT date and the NOT date

My first proper date. And a blind date at that. All I had to go on was a grainy black-and-white photograph and a quick call to arrange the details. Sounds a little rash perhaps but we're talking friend-of-a-friend here not internet so I thought the likelihood of my limbs ending up distributed in bin bags around Hackney was low enough to make it worth the risk.

And it was FABULOUS! 5 uninterrupted hours of chatting, laughing, drinking, laughing, drinking, drinking, walking me home, drinking, snogging and I even managed to post him out the door before I did anything stupid. SUCCESS! I thought, immediately before passing out on the sofa in a pile of shoes and dogs.

Now, the stinking hangover that inevitably followed may have affected my judgement somewhat because I decided it was ok to send him a text. Nothing heavy - just sharing of hangover pain - but the response was decidedly brushy offy. Puzzling. Vague memories of THE RULES started to float back to me. But what were the rules? And had they changed in the intervening 7 years? I determined to find out for the good of femalekind and when I've reached some kind of conclusion I will share my new found wisdom with you. But for the meantime I digress so back to the aftermath of the hot date.

After 4 days superglued to my phone, and physically jumping at every text received by anyone within a mile's radius, I was duly rewarded with an offer of a second date. In 10 days time. More waiting. I am not good at waiting.

But inevitably the day rolled around and washed, brushed and dressed-up to within an inch of my life I arrived at the appointed location in a cloud of expensive new perfume anticipating another brilliant night. Now I should probably have realised it couldn't be this easy. And the cryptic text I'd received earlier that week about something being 'complicated' definitely should have tipped me off but surely he was just going to tell me that work was difficult at the moment or an elderly aunt was sadly on her last legs. He couldn't possibly be going to tell me that he was seeing someone else. Could he? Oh, that's EXACTLY what he's telling me, right now. If I close my ears does that make it not true? If I click my heels 3 times will I be at home again? Suddenly my killer outfit is ridiculous. The high heels just painful. And is he really telling me about all the problems with this other girl? No I don't want to know her name, age and lack of desire for children. I want children god dammit! Oh and the fact that she's dating other people. She sounds lovely.

And somehow, instead of clutching my wounded pride and walking out of there I found myself tottering unsteadily along to the comedy night we'd planned to go to. The rest is a blur really. And you know what's worst? I'd put money on the fact that he'll reappear around the time the other girl finally dumps him off for someone better. The question is what will I do when that happens?? I really couldn't say.