Visiting a proctologist is more fun than some dates

The Model was into astrology and we had discussed it on our first date. On the Monday morning I had sent her an email with a link to do with the compatibility of our star signs.

Her reply:

Hiya,

Mmmm, good to read! I kind of knew a lot of that and I can already see it a little….

Critical & nagging…. All too early to see but im afraid you may have to accept the critical, im sure you are?!?!

For me, It is largely accurate, Independent, need to be loved and made safe. Im sure thats a good thing for you but I am just happy to do dating for now and see what happens… As I am sure you are too!

(FYI-I have more bruises than I care to mention if I’m honest and I am struggling so hope you can bear with me xxx)

Here’s to our next date! You still up for it?
Night night xxx

My response:

Gorgeous, I can sense the bruises and I am a gentle soul – so I can promise you this now: I will NEVER intentionally hurt you physically or emotionally. Never.

There is no rush, is there? So let’s take it slow. Just dating, as you put it.

Let’s take the time to get to know each other.

I can’t wait for our next date – it’s going to be a laugh!

Hug and kisses.

XXX

It was interesting and disappointing to me that she latched on to the negative characteristics in our star-sign compatibility, despite there being so many more positives.

On the Wednesday morning my phone informed me of an entry in my diary from what seemed like a lifetime ago. Baltic Babe was returning to the UK and I saw it as an opportunity to end things on a better note with her. I was planning on driving to the airport where she was landing and surprising her with a lift home, using the time in the car to get better closure. However, fate intervened…

My text message to Baltic Babe:

Me at 8.28am: I was planning on surprising you and be waiting at the airport. I have had a job interview for this am be rescheduled to 4pm so now I can’t drive you home. I wanted to do this because I don’t like how things have ended between us. A more positive feeling would have been preferable.

11.41am Baltic Babe: No worries. I am having a lift from a friend anyway. Good luck for the interview!

I was becoming painfully aware that I couldn’t remember what a good shag felt like. The Model had spent the week at a sales conference in Ireland, so we couldn’t see each other, but swapped a few emails. I couldn’t wait to see her…and I mean ‘see her’. I loved the look of her. A little bit more of an emotional connection and I would be entirely comfortable with getting physical with her. If we could get a relationship going, then she would be perfect in every sense.

We met on the Friday night under the big bright neon lights at Piccadilly Circus as bewildered tourists gawked in awe at their surroundings. The Model seemed a little tired but claimed to be ready for whatever I had planned for the evening.

I took her hand and led her up Shaftesbury Avenue towards Soho. I had booked us a table at what was the highest rated Thai restaurant on TripAdvisor. It was starting to rain just as we found the restaurant. The romance of a great date at a superb restaurant on a rainy night in London was not lost on me. There was also a cause for celebration as I had got the job that I was interviewed for.

The Model and I shared polite conversation over our excellent dinner. It appeared that we had very similar taste in food and drink. However, there was no spark, no chemistry between us. I put it down to her being tired.

After dinner we moved on to a comedy club that I had arranged tickets for. It was still drizzling, so I held an umbrella and we coupled arms, taking shelter under the brolly. I could feel a boob heaving against my arm again, which was nice.

At the comedy club there was just enough time to buy us each a drink. I was hoping the alcohol would help loosen her up. We found our seats and were entertained by a succession of surprisingly good stand-up comedians. At about half way through the evening The Model put a hand on my leg and then shortly afterwards rested her head against my shoulder. That felt good. It felt better than a breast bouncing off my bicep because it came with a touch of emotional closeness.

The last of the clowns delivered his closing lines and people flooded out into the bar area. The night was still young and to be totally honest, the date wasn’t going well at all. She seemed distant and pre-occupied. Conversation was becoming difficult. I wanted to rescue the date and offered to buy her another drink, which she accepted.

We stood in the crowded bar, sipping our drinks, trying to make conversation, but it just wasn’t happening. Whatever I said was met with blunt, curt responses. Her face hardly changed. She even started to avoid making eye contact with me. No, she didn’t start looking around the room, but she might as well have.

I could have stood in the middle of the floor of people, dropped my trousers, got down oddly on my haunches, toppled on to my back and fellated myself – her expression would have remained the same. Had she had her entire face botoxed that day?

It started to feel very awkward between us. As far as I was concerned my behaviour had been exactly the same as on our other dates. I was interested and interesting. I was positive, affable and engaging. In my mind I started making excuses for her. “Oh, she’s tired”, “Oh, she’s had a bad week”, yada yada. Fool.

I had to accept that this night was just not going to turn out how I had expected. There was a looming disaster scenario whereby the harder I tried to entertain her, the worse things would become. I didn’t know what to do.

I decided to play safe and said, “Sweetie, you’re obviously tired. How about we call it a night?”

“Yes, you’re right. I’m sorry that I’m so tired,” she replied with an apologetic look in her eyes.

I escorted her to the Tube station at Leicester Square, holding the umbrella again, but this time not bothering to make small talk. I was learning that sometimes the best thing to say is nothing.

Waiting on the platform, I asked, “So what are you doing this weekend?” I was wondering if there was any prospect of having another date, hopefully a better one.

“Oh, my best friend has been dumped by her partner. She’s a mess, so I’m spending the weekend with her,” came the reply.

We kissed briefly as her train arrived. She ran on board and found a seat, not bothering to look back at me.

That date was no fun at all. A visit to a proctologist would have been more fun…