The Last Date I Never Had

I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this. That I would not have to be writing on my blog, satirising this most recent girl I was in touch with through online dating. It seemed like we might even progress past the first date into proper dating, and she would be immune from inclusion in my posts, except when we had had hilarious times together and she agreed with me sharing our fun on the internet. I thought maybe she would be the first that I broached the subject of the blog with. It would begin by me telling her that I was writing a book with all my stories in it. Not entirely untrue, but a massaged truth. She would be impressed and intrigued – firstly that I have enough adventures to fill a book, and secondly that it demonstrates my artistic and creative side, something she would assume would make the transition into lovemaking scenarios.

She would ask to read some of it surely; I would send her some carefully chosen posts – I MEAN CHAPTERS – i.e. not the rude ones and not the ones I had already told her on our dates, because she would surely be disappointed to learn all the masterfully crafted anecdotal banter I had wowed her with on our dates had actually been up there on the internet for literally anyone to find for months, particularly anyone searching for the phrase “nude beach” on Google. She’d be hurt if she knew all she was getting was a wine-accompanied version of the same shit anyone trawling the internet for tits and ass could see.

As she warmed to it I would introduce the notion that the book began as a blog on the internet, and that by popular demand (i.e. colleagues bumping into me in lifts or on the street and mentioning it) I was turning it into a book. I would gauge whether it was necessary to trim out a few posts temporarily before setting her free with the link to mccannecdotes.com – for example, the post about my hot ex-girlfriend (which to be fair was nothing but complimentary) and more importantly my three posts about online dating itself and my recent post about the date with the Japanese necrophile. I’d also probably temporarily strip out the references to my other ex who cheated on me, and the sporadic occasions where on this site I have referred to her nostalgically as a cheating skank, slagbucket, slutbag, internet whorebasket, vaginaforeveryone.com and other frank nicknames.

I’d reassure her how my very strict policies on content work, and that I never put anything embarrassing about people on there without their consent, except that post about my friend [CENSORED] who told me he’d kick my fucking head in if I ever mentioned his real name Thomas again. She’d be wary of becoming the topic of one of my posts, and thus would probably behave herself – in fact the threat of the blog might even prolong our relationship. I’d restore over time all the things I removed and if she ever bothered to read the old posts again, I could just tell her I’d been hacked by my vindictive cheating ex. And that as a response to this I should probably refer to her as a backstabbing open-legged little tramp all the more liberally in future posts.

After all this, she’d probably sleep with me, safe in the knowledge the ins and outs of the evening would not be laid bare all over the internet.

Never let it be said I think too far ahead. Sadly none of this was to be. My good friend said to me only yesterday, my dating stories always make him a bit sad because he knows I’m still single, so he knows right at the start of any dating post that it doesn’t end well. This time, I’m giving all of you up-front the same advance warning. It did not end well. And as you may have guessed from the title, it did not even end in a date, although I got close – about an hour away from it to be exact.

Suzy sent me an icebreaker on eHarmony last weekend, basically just meaning she’d liked my profile. I looked at hers and her photos also, my first thought was she was a little bit out of my league. Blonde, very pretty and very slim; to be honest not really my type but most people would say she was hot. But she seemed slightly interested and I had some great banter (some of it not even published on this site!) to put in an e-mail to her, based on what she’d written. She replied with some of her own and we immediately seemed to have clicked. Over the next few e-mails we were getting on great, humour-wise, views on things, everything. In my third mail I used an extremely cunning ploy (which I’m not going to share because it’s totally ingeniously copyright me) to prompt her to move on to chatting on the phone or arranging a date.

She did both, giving me her number and giving me a choice of three days when we could meet up, of which I chose Friday. There was almost a whole week to wait for the date, but we kept in touch constantly, chatting on the phone occasionally and texting almost constantly. If she’d had any other dates that week (which would have been fine) she must have been texting me all the way through. We really got to know each other a lot. Almost too much. It felt a little bit strange that we were bonding so much without having met. Towards the end of the week I felt like we had been playing World of Warcraft together for years and were about to meet for the first time on our wedding day.

You know those smart arse answers I put in my eHarmony questionnaire from my online dating posts (I, II, III) – she read them all and loved them; first person to comment on those. I felt my work was being appreciated, and not putting girls off as I had started to think. Through my answers, she’d learned I don’t drink (forgot I put that on there actually) and was fine with it. She was also fine with my comment that telling a Scottish person not to swear profusely was racist – she swears a hell of a lot herself for such a pretty little thing.

I started smoking again a few weeks ago, temporarily. I knew that I’d been a non-smoker on my profile, and I wanted to stop again quickly anyway, so I decided to ensure I had no cigarettes on the day at all, and was wearing totally clean clothes so she’d never know.

As Friday approached I had to think of some admin. I’ve put on a bit of weight since I stopped drinking. Don’t even ask how, this fact just winds me the fuck up. And she’s a dietician, so I mentioned to her I’d put on a few kgs since stopping drinking, and my profile photo on the site was from about a year ago. She was totally fine with it, didn’t care at all. We also had to think of where and when to meet. She had the day off work to go to a London Marathon Expo. So her time of finishing was uncertain but she thought about 4.30-5.00. She asked what time I finished. I said “5.30 but if I tell my boss I’m meeting an actual woman he’ll let me go early, and probably throw a party.” The banter went down well, a good sign.

Around this time I posted the above jape up on Facebook, announcing for the first time I had a date (I kept the Japanese girl fairly quiet, and the Japanese girl was fairly quiet herself). This was of course foolish, because suddenly I was being asked about it and asked for pictures etc of this “lucky” lady. I am not spoiling the story by telling you now this was to backfire, of course it fucking was.

I was keen for her to pick the place, as I fucked up last time I met a girl with the French restaurant. Where did she suggest? O’Neill’s, Carnaby St. Um, less than a minute from my work. Now I’d kind of batted the decision back to her so many times I was in no position to suggest an alternative without seeming like a dick, and I was so close to a date with a normal woman. And what was I to say, “um can we go somewhere else, because it’s Friday night and there will be about 300 people from my work, WHO KNOW ABOUT MY DATE FROM FACEBOOK, at this pub. Oh no we can’t do this other Soho pub either, because another hundred will be there. Or any of the pubs in Soho because the rest of my company will be scattered across them.” I figured if she stuck to her time, we’d be there before the hordes and I could always relocate us after we met up, perhaps to the new posh coffee place opposite.

I printed off a little gag I made for her, related to our early e-mail banter. It was just a funny picture, and she would find it hilarious if I pulled it out (no it was not my cock) – I won’t go into what it was here because frankly it will not be funny. But it was funny to us.

Then about 4pm I got a text. She wanted to “reschedule” because of some family stuff. She was specific about what it was, it was nothing serious, just something that would make her not in the right mood for a date. I texted her back supportively, saying it was fine and we could see each other another time, and more important for her to be feeling right. Well, before I texted that I went outside for a cigarette – the cigarette I’d been depriving myself of all day; and I screamed “OH FOR FUCK’S SAKE!” a few times. Then I sent the supportive text.

I panicked a little when I thought, what if she changes her mind, and I’m stuck stinking of smokies… there was no going back. So I calmed myself by having another cigarette.

We continued to text, and if I’m not being too self-congratulating I was being quite lovely to this girl that I’d never met. She said if she was feeling like it she’d call me later and we could chat. And she told me quite a few personal things about this little situation that had caused her mood.

I grabbed the printout I’d made and went home, and figured I’d make the joke by taking a picture. Later in the evening as we exchanged texts again, I told her I’d made this picture gag for her, and I’d send her a photo of it to make her smile, and I’d be holding it so she could see me, since she missed the opportunity to see me earlier. I took the picture a few times, it was fucking awkward taking a self-shot of me and another thing. I picked the clearest one and sent it to her.

She replied “Ha ha ha!” Good, she found it funny. Told you. She continued “In the nicest possible way…” (very bad sign) “If I had met up with you today I wouldn’t have recognised you.”

OK the pic on my profile was a year old but I looked the same, except I put on a little weight, but not like a stone or anything, just a little. And I told her about this. I replied to her “Why do you say that, what was wrong?”

I never heard from her again.

That photo, of me as I am now, made her run a mile. After all our chats and e-mails and texts, and constant messaging and all the getting to know each other, and all the laughs, and the serious conversations too. She took one look at me now and ran. I was just speechless as I realised that she wasn’t just busy, and that for her, this was it. No more texting, no rescheduled date. She’s seen what I look like now, and nothing about the past week made her even slightly interesting in meeting up with me. If we’d met up and afterwards she’d said “oh I had great fun and I’d like to be just friends, you’re not really my type,” I could have understood, because I get that A LOT. But this was just breathtakingly shallow.

Like me saying “Hey, we’re getting on so great huh? But I just noticed that actually you don’t really seem to have anything in the way of breasts. So, bye.” And if she’s pissed off about the fact my picture was a year old – she’s 32 and in two of her photos she has a “Happy 30th Birthday” balloon attached to her body. Those were her balloons! What does she expect, I haven’t changed at all over time at all ever? That my profile picture on eHarmony is a fucking webcam image, updating itself every 4 seconds. Or I’m some kind of immortal – ” hey Suzy I look just like I did a year ago; I’ve got a Lithuanian on minimum wage in my loft who does all my ageing for me.”

I don’t know if I’m more annoyed at her for being so fucktastically shallow, or the fact that I put on all this weight after I quit drinking. Which I’m pretty sure isn’t meant to happen. I’m already nervous on dates because of what I mentioned above, just not being someone’s type – girls never fancy me, I have to work very fucking hard to even have a chance, and I’ve managed to succeed briefly even with girls who’ve been very steadfast on their need for “really tall” guys. What am I supposed to do now, make it a routine thing to send photos of me from every angle the night before a date, just to check they don’t change their mind, or are shocked I put a “good” picture as my profile picture on the dating site? Of course I fucking put a “good” picture up there. I’m not saying every woman is shallow, but enough are that if I post up my best mongoloid freak face up on eHarmony I’m not going to get any attention, no matter how good my puns are and engaging and witty my stories are.

So, after this experience, I am doing two completely contradictory things. I am going on a diet, and I am never going on an internet date ever again.

In fact, I am sorely tempted… putting this experience along with most past experiences with women (with a few exceptions)… to give up on women, and become a gay. It cannot possibly be harder work than this. I can’t get women, and my social life has dried up since I quit drinking, so kill two birds with one stone, become a gay and have a big coming out party.