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My Dating Disaster

#MyWorstDate

Life is all about knowing your limits.

His picture popped up on my screen—a tall, dark, and handsome enough guy with an air of intellect and a suave smile. He was a PHD student in Physics, a fact I found both intimidating and arousing.

According to his profile, he was from somewhere in America. I can't recall exactly where.

"Oooh, foreign," I thought as I hastily swiped right.

This was my first foray into the murky, mind-bending waters of Tinder.

I'd tried to arrange a date once before but that had been a dismal no-show which left me stood up in a bar in London, where I spent the evening drinking whiskey alone. The next day, the guy had texted me "So, I went to the wrong pub haha." I was not amused.

That experience burned me, leading me to temporarily scorn Tinder. However, as the work piled up during the final year of my degree, I soon longed for a distraction. By the time I matched with Mr. American, I was ready for a bit of romance.

We met at a cosy little pub with dim lighting, a pool table, and just the right amount of low-level chatter so as to render the atmosphere suitably intimate.

He was charming, sweet, and talkative. I'd been worried that we wouldn't have a lot in common but the conversation flowed with ease. I listened intently as he talked about Graphene and the perils of kissing his students on drunken nights out.

I downed glass after glass of red wine, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks as the tart liquid filled my heart with courage.

When he went to the toilet, I glanced at my phone. There was a text from my mum: "How's the date going?"

By this stage, I was suitably tipsy with a woozy sense of humour so I replied, "Yeah, great thanks, think he's the one! lol."

When he returned, it wasn't long before we were making the short walk back to my place.

Things progressed as I'd expected. I shut the door to my bedroom. He kissed me passionately. We began to undress each other feverishly as we tumbled onto my bed in a muddle of flirtatious giggles.

Then he paused to look at his phone. A wave of shock passed over his face and suddenly he was muttering an excuse to leave, claiming his taxi had arrived.

I was disappointed but in my drunken stupor, I just smiled dreamily at him and bid him goodnight.

The next day, I awoke with a pounding hangover and a blurry recollection of the night's events.

When I looked at my phone, I realised with abject remorse that the text I'd intended for my mum had actually been sent to Mr. American.

I was absolutely mortified. There could be no coming back from this.

I feebly tried to remedy the situation by ignoring it and sending him a text to ask if he wanted to meet up again. When that got no reply, I explained that the text was a joke and I'd meant to send it to my mum. Still no reply.

Needless to say, I never from him again but can only assume that he pictured me as a desperate, bunny-boiler psycho who wanted to entrap him, marry him, and have his babies.

That night I learnt two important lessons:

  1. Never exceed three glasses of wine on a date.
  2. Don't drink and text.

However, looking back, I think the most important thing I learnt from the experience is not to take myself so seriously.

Life deserves to be laughed at sometimes and it's too short to worry what other people think of you.

#MyWorstDate

Read next: The Wild One
Kathy G
Kathy G

Kathy is an Irish writer and journalist who is crazy about cats and playing the ukulele. She loves to write about matters close to her heart and help fight the stigma against mental illness.


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My Dating Disaster
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