I swiped right on a good-looking guy on Tinder, he had a confident look with a Jack Sparrow-type moustache and dark blonde hair. We matched, and the chat flowed effortlessly. He was funny and charming, and we discovered a shared love for Lord of the Rings. He suggested a date at the SeaLife aquarium, and I thought it was a cute idea. We planned to meet for lunch beforehand at an Italian restaurant.
I was excited, but when he arrived, he was a nervous wreck. His voice trembled, he seemed jumpy, and he picked his pasta up with his fork one by one, trying desperately not to spill. I tried to make him feel comfortable, asking him questions, but he was so stressed, it was hard to connect.
However, the moment we entered the aquarium, something flipped. He suddenly became chatty, launching into a barrage of fish puns. I enjoy a good pun, but after a while, even my fake laughter couldn’t hide my annoyance.
When it was time to leave, he panicked, patted me on the shoulder like a distant cousin, and rushed out. Then, out of nowhere, a blur of fur rammed into our table, spilling his forgotten purple cider all over his lap.
I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt – maybe it was first-date nerves. I asked him out on a second date. He seemed happy and readily agreed. I chose a pub, hoping alcohol might help ease his anxieties.
We sat outside, enjoying the evening. He took a sip of his cider, but it didn’t go down well. He choked and coughed, spitting his drink everywhere. I patted his back to help him, but he remained quiet, not touching another drink for the rest of the night.
Then, a blur of fur came out of nowhere, again, spilling his cider all over his lap. A puppy had spotted us, and its owner was dragging it towards us. The owner apologized profusely, but it seemed to make my date even more nervous.
He started playing with his hair, rambling, and laughing awkwardly. Then, a homeless man approached us, introducing himself as a recovering addict. He started chatting and showed us his drawings, culminating in a portrait he had made of me. He explained his story of suffering PTSD and losing his wife, and stuck around for about 30 minutes. I bought his portrait for £20, feeling I couldn’t be rude.
With the portrait in my bag, we left the pub. The date was clearly a disaster, but he tried to kiss me at the bus stop. I offered him my cheek. It was a total rollercoaster, and the attempted kiss was the final nail in the coffin. He said, ‘I’ll see you later then,’ but I doubted that.
What a wild date. He asked me out again, but I couldn’t put myself through that again. I still see him at a dungeons and dragons group, but we don’t speak.
As told to Louisa Gregson
