#MyWorstDate

I rubbed my sore eyes, flinching at the light and trying to tell which way was up. The night before I'd been at a house party, a kind of reunion with some school friends who, while we shared the same city, they had gone to other universities to me. So there I'd been, surrounded by hormonal students whom were determined to make me feel welcome and too drunk to care how much alcohol they gave away to me. It was great. I laughed, I danced, I flirted, I drank, I fell into a taxi and somehow stumbled to bed at some ungodly hour of the morning.

I woke with a hangover to end all, with makeup smeared down my chin and a hickey on my collarbone. The recollection hit me like a train, followed by a long, regretful groan. Recalling that I'd gotten chatting to one of the party's hosts and had more liquid confidence than I'd known what to do with, and the vague memory of staggering upstairs with him and locking his bedroom door.

I didn't need to hang my head in shame, I could barely lift it the next day. Now, one night stands have never ever been my style so the annoyance at myself was practically enough to put me in my place. All through the day I was hit with vague memories of conversations and ridiculous things I did and said. Most importantly, I remembered how it hadn't even been worth my time. It was the single most boring night I'd ever had. He'd been all talk and attempting seductive smiles, and no drive or action. Will from The Inbetweeners came to mind. I would have repressed the incident had I not found several texts sent over the course of the early hours/day from a contact I didn't know I had: "Great meeting you," "Get home okay?" "I had fun;)." I only vaguely remembered swapping numbers but he was able to shed some light on the night and remind me of what happened, whether that was a good thing or not, I'm not sure. We chatted and he eventually asked if I wanted to go out with him.

I met him in a bar in town and to my dismay, he wasn't quite the drop-dead gorgeous suitor my intoxicated vision had led me to believe. It was definitely him but the sobriety of day brought a few home truths to me. 'Not a problem,' I said to myself, but the list didn't stop there. The personality I remembered was also very dry, apparently Mr. Jack Daniels had completely altered everything I thought to be true about this dude. From there, we went to dinner, accompanied by a commentary of horrendously poor jokes and the charisma of a turnip. Much to my horror and distaste, he also insisted on talking very openly in this restaurant about our dirty antics and wanted to go to hear about every little detail I enjoyed. I shuddered at the recall, I lied and said I didn't really remember it but that didn't stop him from continuing to ask and try to discuss what he would "do right next time." Two hours of my life of critiquing his sex moves later, I refused dessert and took my leave, he walked me to a taxi and awkwardly tried to kiss me goodbye. No. He then said something to me that still to this day, I don't now how I kept a straight face; "So, we've had our practice shot, shall we say we fire up the balls for round two tomorrow?"

I got in he taxi and ignored his texts after that. #MyWorstDate