Blind Date
By actionfish
- 415 reads
Please note, the following piece is based on fact, although there is
a little poetic license
in there, the names have been protected to protect the ugly, I mean
innocent, and the
only person who is actually getting shown up here is yours
truly.
So there I was, stood in the street looking worried. Not one for doing
things the easy way
I had managed to get myself involved in a 'blind date'. Although I had
spoken on the
phone to Mr.X, we had never met and that was probably the most
frustrating thing about
it. What was I going to get? I mean potentially everyone that went
past could have been
the one, and inside your favourite fish friend was thinking 'Oh, thank
fuck' and then 'Dear
god, NO!' I was quite perpared to leg it, but as there was only one
white faced, red
haired, 5ft 6inch woman in a long leather coat on the street that day
I was pretty much
doomed to go through with the whole thing. It was as I was wrestling
with this thought
that it happened. I voice from behind me 'Action Fish?', I turned on
the spot and saw...
Nothing. After adjusting my vision downwards I saw what I was due to
spend the night
with. Five foot nothing and a face that could curdle milk and unblock
sinks. Now, Mr.X
didn't look like his voice sounded, I had quite a shock, and if it
wasn't for the fact that I
was in deep trauma I might have denied everything, but it was too
late, I couldn't bring
myself to tell the lie... 'Yes, that's me... Hi'
The next thing he did was the best part of the evening. He was holding
a bottle of
orange juice, he bought it up sharply to his face, missed his mouth
and shot a spout of
OJ square in to his eye. Being the ever caring fish I laughed as he
stumbled around in
citrus blindness. It was entertainment and it didn't hurt me, so why
not?
Right, so we go to his car, which is a kind of sporty thingy, one that
you can't get in to
easy, not if you are over 5 feet tall that is, which precludes me but
is fine for Mr. X. It was
only a matter of minutes before I realised that the car was not only a
means of transport
but also a penis substitute for poor little X, he loved his car and as
I was shown around
the interior I became more and more aware that now might be the wrong
time to mention
how little I cared about the car, about being in the car and in fact I
was quite keen to go
home. But how do you let someone know that you are entirely
disinterested in them. We
headed through the London rush hour traffic as fast as HE could. Not
impressive really,
being able to push a pedal with your foot, but he seemed to think that
it was going to
make me swoon.
As we sat in the restaurant (I felt like a fish out of water there, I
don't go to restaurants)
we held a conversation about him, he announced to the entire room that
he was a sexual
athlete, irresistable to women, a real live wire. This fish didn't
think it could get worse
than this, it did... He then proceeded to remove every credit card
from his wallet and tell
me the spend limit, I greyed out around American Express and woke up
with the phrase
'Choose what you like off of the menu... The plastic is paying' Right,
so time to order
everything? No, time to order as little as possible so I could escape
from the horrified
looks of the other diners. If it is possible to eat in a self concious
manner then that is
what I did, as I ate he asked incredibly personal questions and told
me just how great he
was.
At last he offered to take me home, back in the car (this time I was
shown the 'cool'
sunglasses holder that was the thing that sold the car to him) and we
were travelling
through the city with unnecessary speed. And then, just as I thought
it was going to be
all over the engine over-heats and we stop. NO, PLEASE, NO!
An hour and a half we sat in the confines of that bleeding car, he got
comfortable,
reclined his seat and said 'Hey, why don't you join me?' Not if you
were the last short
arsed, chubby man with girly hands on earth, mate. When the recovery
service arrived I
sighed with relief. Actually, I got on very well with the mechanic,
nice man he was. I felt
like kissing him for fixing the car and allowing me to return to
Action Towers. When we
pulled up outside the awkward moment arrived, I knew that he thought
that there may be
a chance that he would be invited in for 'Coffee'... I knew different.
'Well, goodnight' he
said. 'Yeah, thanks. Bye'. I was out of the car and in the door before
you could say 'I'll
call you'. When I got in (and doubled locked the door, just in case) I
collapsed,
uncontrollable mirth for ten minutes. Only halted by the phone
ringing. It was him. 'Just
wanted to say thank you for a lovely evening'... ick. I would like to
say that that was the
last time I ever spoke to Mr. X. but... Anyhow that is another story
and in many ways a
more frightening one.
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