I signed up to Plenty of Fish as it’s the biggest free dating site out there, so surely She could be waiting there? I copied my killer profile over from my Happy Humping Ground site, hoping it would bring me better luck in finding true love.
After much scouring of profiles I conjured up a short list of interesting profiles and sent off a polite, brief email to each to establish contact. One of the ladies wrote back overnight; my all-new profile had done the trick. We swapped courteous emails and at my suggestion we made plans to meet for a coffee in a town halfway between us outside London.
At noon on a Saturday I was standing outside a busy, fancy coffee shop from a bygone era in a town I had never been to, thinking to myself that at least dating was going to broaden my geographic knowledge. It started to rain so I went inside and found a table that gave me a view of the door and allowed my date to spot me too.
I recognised her as she came in and she made a positive first impression. She was tall, almost six foot it seemed, quite pretty with natural golden blonde hair, very slim and well dressed, wearing tight-fitting blue jeans, a blouse and a smart, short jacket…and ankle-high boots. There is something about a woman in boots that stirs me. I liked the look of her.
Our eyes met, I smiled and stood up to greet her as she approached. She had quite a serious look on her face as I kissed her on a cheek. As an ice-breaker I suggested that we inspect the cakes and pastries on offer at the glass counter. We stood choosing what we wanted, but I was secretly checking her out. She certainly was skinny; I might break her.
It took her quite a while to choose what pastry she wanted, but I didn’t mind as I thought it a pleasant way of her becoming comfortable being around me. She was more attractive than what I was expecting, so the date was off to a good start.
Back at our table the initial polite small-talk about traffic, parking and rain turned serious when she said, “I noticed on your profile that you don’t want children.”
“Correct. How about you?” I said, curious to see where this was leading. I recalled that on her profile she said ‘undecided’ next to the field marked ‘wants children’.
“I can’t make up my mind. Some days I do, then some days I don’t. I think it’s because of my being a Libra; constantly weighing everything up,” she said with a serious face, making a balancing motion with her hands. I thought that her recently turning forty might have added some pressure to her thinking, but didn’t say so.
Our pastries arrived and the waitress asked what drinks we would like. I instantly asked for a latte, but my date took forever to order something, having to first consult a menu and then have a chat with the patient waitress. She went for a latte too. Were all Librans like her?
It was there and then that I decided to dub her ‘Miss Indecisive’.
“Show me your shoes,” she said.
“Sorry, what?” Had I heard correctly?
“I want you to show me your shoes,” she said with a serious look in her dark brown eyes.
Did she have some kind of weird shoe fetish going on? No Stupid Boy, she wants to see how big your feet are because she wants to know how big your dick is. That’s what I thought in that instant.
I stuck a leg out from under the table, dangling a foot towards her, smiling to myself at the absurdity and apparent naughtiness of this. (I’m a UK size 13 which is a 14 in the USA.)
“Oh good, they’re not brown,” she said, finally relaxing her face. She looked prettier without a frown.
“Er, sorry, what?”
“Your shoes aren’t brown. I hate brown shoes. Men’s shoes must always be black. I must note that in my spreadsheet,” Miss Indecisive said.
“Er, sorry, what?” Had the guy behind the counter slipped some magic mushrooms in to my pastry and this was a cute dream?
“I keep a spreadsheet at home with all the details of the guys I date. One of the columns is whether or not he wears brown shoes. If he does, I don’t see him again,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Oh, I see,” is all I said as I eyed my pastry with suspicion. Were those really pieces of chocolate?
I don’t mind a bit of quirkiness in a person. It makes them interesting, unpredictable and fun. A perpetually cold, rational person doesn’t tend to enjoy a laugh and I like to laugh.
“So, how many guys have you dated? How many names are on this spreadsheet?” I asked with a cheeky grin, intrigued as to what the answer would be.
“Oh, a few. It’s more than ten in the last year,” came her reply as she nonchalantly forked her pastry, causing cream to ooze out of it.
I left it there, but in hindsight I should have delved deeper. Conversation with Miss Indecisive flowed adequately, but would come to a halt whenever I asked her opinion on something. She would pause, look to the ceiling, frown, purse her lips and think for a few seconds before giving some kind of non-committal answer. Aside from brown shoes, she didn’t seem to have firm views on much.
Nevertheless, I was interested in learning more about her. She seemed to have a good heart, was lively, open to new ideas, not uncomfortable with being thrown a challenging question, the vibe between us felt good…and I fancied her.
The date ended with me walking her to her car where I politely kissed her goodbye on her cheek.
“I don’t normally do this, but I’d like to see you again,” I said, trying to sound cavalier and sophisticated.
“I’d like that,” she replied with a smile.
Was she The One?