I’m getting rather au fait with this dating malarkey now. Whereas 12 weeks ago the thought of an intimate chat with some guy I’d never met before terrified me to my very core, I’m now at the stage where I’m relishing the chance to make a new acquaintance (or, failing that, at least learn something about human nature).
I’ve already learned a few first date tips. For instance, NOT to make bold statements about the state of society (without first ascertaining his political stance), introduce the subject of ex partners, get ridiculously spangled on chardonnay or walk into the side of a train (the latter two necessarily follow one another). So, I’m making progress.
My most recent rendezvous was with a guy who in his profile pic seemed reasonably good looking and was remarkably, I am now beginning to understand, not pouting. In reality, however, the man was absolutely breathtaking. We had arranged to meet on the steps beneath the statue of Eros in Piccadilli Circus (romantic, you see) and I was, predictably, exactly on time, when obviously everyone else in the World is always slightly late because that’s how cool people roll (and I’ve never been one of those).
As I watched him stride from the tube entrance I nearly toppled face first down the stone steps (which wouldn’t have made the greatest first impression, admittedly, but would at least have been a talking point). Tall, broad, brooding, he had an air of Mr Darcy about him and I immediately wished I was wearing an eighteenth century style corset so I could swoon in his arms and beseech him to lift me onto his white charger and elope with me into the sunset (the sight of a beautiful man does rather kill my inner feminist, unfortunately).
We decamped to a nearby watering hole and, as he told me about his job, his life, his day, I suddenly realized I was actually gazing at him, in a proper black-and-white film type way. Any woman who’s read ‘The Rules’ knows that first-date gazing is probably a fast-track straight back to singledom, so I tried desperately to contain myself (and to ignore the death stares I was receiving from every other female in the room.)
Five hours of frantically attempting not to gaze later and we parted ways with a promise to see each other again. I later asked my best mate for her opinion on the potential perils of dating out of one’s league. Her response was ‘oh, it’s perfectly fine to date someone prettier than you. Although, I wouldn’t relish the surreptitious ‘blimey, she is punching above her weight’ glances……or to be always worrying he’d leave me for a girl equally as pretty as him…… Actually, can I change my answer?’
Understandably, I am sure you’ll agree, I’m no closer to reaching a decisive conclusion on this one – But in the meantime there is more gazing to be done, so please excuse me until next time……
Words by Zowie Edwards