Date Deux

Hello dear readers, and thank you for returning to this little puddle of self-indulgence!

I believe I may have made reference to my propensity to simu-date to keep my options open. And maybe the Menfolk can pick up on this, or maybe they're oblivious (Menfolk, can you tell if a girl is simu-dating, and moreover do you mind?)... but while I was emailing ODNU over that cold, November (free) weekend on CatchInfinity I was also emailing DD (Date Deux).

He seemed, well, nice. Normal. Used to be a primary school teacher, now working at a university not too far away.

We arranged a date (after the noncommunicative nonevent that was of course ODNU) and he agreed to roll on down to Surrey, and break some naan bread with me. I did the civilised thing of booking a table in my favourite curry establishment (which he was most amenable to).

I had a whole evening in which to beautify (which to me is picking out the pink dress again and maybe hauling the straighteners through my hair...).

Then I made the fatal mistake of trying to pep myself up with a film. I chose Must Love Dogs -- divorced Diane Lane is set up on dates with a) her father, Christopher Plummer, by accident, then b) fellow dog-lover John Cusack whilst also c) romancing single dad and general dish Dermot Mulroney.

via IMDB

Word to the wise: before a date, don't be tempted to watch "inspirational dating success story" films in which unfeasibly witty and attractive (though slightly more mature) women are faced with the "dilemma" of whether to pick charming boat-builder John Cusack over charismatic divorced dad Dermot Mulroney. Oh boo. Normal chicas like me don't have those sorts of choices and it'll just feed into our insecurities and thwart our expectations even more. D'oh!



...But I would not be thrown off my stride (that much).

So I trundled around to the curry house. I waited a while, read a book (can't remember which, now, but something hugely intellectual, I'm sure... ahem). He turned up. Very tall, very chatty, very charming. We talked (and by we I mean, well, he, and I, in turns, in the manner of Actual Conversation). It was reassuring. We both agreed on the comedy value and quality of that cinematic pinnacle known as Kindergarten Cop. Which is a bonus. We shared dinner (we had to check beforehand that there were no peanuts involved as DD was allergic).


We went on to a pub afterwards, chatted a bit more about his time as a ski instructor. It was all very encouraging. Finally, he went to catch the last train. And he messaged on his way home to say thanks and to reassure me that he had caught the last train. I wrote back to congratulate him on this, and to thank him, too, for a nice evening.

I was very, very encouraged. I thought we'd sparked. We texted a little after that, mostly perfunctories...

...but then...

Radio Silence (from his end, not mine).

Nothing.
Nada.
Nowt.
Zilcharoo.

That was it.

End of. (And I wasn't about to start text-stalking. I don't want to be That Girl Who Won't Go Away, or have the words bunny boiler aligned with my reputation. Perish the thought.)

And I guess so often it just happens like that. I'll never understand why and I could overanalyse it to death but I just thought, OK, stop, breathe, reboot... stay single. Step away from the dating sites. They are no good. No good, I tell thee. And start liking cats because you are fated to end up a mad cat lady.


And so I stepped away from the sites, for quite a few months.

Then came a visit from a friend.


And that Metro article...