I used to love dating. Probably at the very start of my internet dating sagas, I really enjoyed the thrill of the pre-dating chat, the getting to know each other and comparing experiences. However, after a little while, I began to realise that a whopping great dose of salt needed to be taken with every line they wrote or word they uttered.
I’ll skip past the obvious online dating frustrations of white lies, as to me, white lies are not a fair foundation to begin a relationship on. And fellas, if you are going to tell a white lie, don’t start with the obvious ones. If you say you are 6 foot, turning up for our date when you are obviously 5’8”, is not OK. Not only have you lied but you’ve wasted my time, and time is a very precious commodity so I’m not going to be happy. Whilst I appreciate that size isn’t everything, I’m 5’11 ½” in my stocking feet and I love wearing heels. I want to be hugged and loved by a man whose at least as tall (and preferably just ‘bigger’ than) me. For once in my gangly, stretched out life, I want to feel like Kylie in your arms. It should be you lifting me off my feet in a loving embrace, not the other way around!
This brings me to one of my really bad dates with The Chess Champion who will be known as TCC from hereon in. This was a chap who in hindsight, just wore me down with his constant and flattering attention. He’d asked me out several times, and I’d always trusted my instinct and declined. The warning signs were there, a black and white photo (an alarm bell should always go off if there are only b&w photos of anyone on the site and if they only have studio shots.) As he was shorter than he was professing, he never had any photos of him out and about or standing next to a door or anything that would have given his height away (top tip, ensure photos are wide ranging in nature although posing in a car is NEVER cool!)
However, having given in to his flatterings, I agreed to meet up and he suggested a venue in London which, given I live in Windsor, was a bit of a stretch, but I learnt early on that taking control of when to turn up and more importantly when to leave, was a healthy thing to do. So, ever being the adventurous type, I agreed. A restaurant he’d chosen near Waterloo was the ill-fated venue.
Now, given this was probably around 13-14 years ago and I was a bit more naïve, I agreed to his recommendations, gave the Eastern European restaurant a cursory viewing on the website and set off with some trepidation, but also some hope in my heart.
The restaurant was a little dingier than I’d expected, so I walked past it a couple of times, checked it out on my phone before venturing in. The lighting was quite soft which didn’t help, but I soon noticed my date sat on a stool at the bar, waving at me. I headed over. Another alarm bell should have clanged loudly as he half stood up on the stool to greet me, not standing up like a normal chap would. He gave me a clumsy kiss and bade me to sit down next to him. We made small talk when he asked if I was hungry, and proffered some of the salted popcorn he was greedily devouring. I demurred as he was helping himself to huge scoops and literally shoving it in his mouth and I had no idea where those hands had been. Now, fellas, we need to talk mastication. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, we all do it, but please masticate quietly and close your mouth. TCC continued to talk, spilling popcorn out of his mouth as he rambled on. I decided to be kind and assumed it was nerves. [My brother had recently delivered a lecture to me regarding my lack of partner and had told me I was too picky and needed to be more open to opportunities]. Thank you dearest brother, but ‘no’, this isn’t for me. I know what I like and more importantly, I know what I don’t like and there’s no point in hiding it, noisy mastication is near the top of the list of ‘don’t likes’ although admittedly behind being a serial killer, vertically challenged or a philanderer!
Anyhow, back to TCC. When the waitress came to invite us to our table TCC asked if we could eat at the bar. Thankfully she said no and pointedly stood to one side with a firm nod and a tight smile indicating we should follow her to our table. TCC stood on his stool and pretending to be a gentleman, motioned for me to go ahead of him. I knew by now that he definitely wasn’t the 5’11” he’d pretended to be (his hands were tiny, also a big giveaway), so I turned round to give my thanks (and get a clear look). I swear I thought he’d ducked out the back door, as all I could see was the back wall of the bar, I had looked straight over his head. I stopped dead in my tracks looking for him and there was an awkward moment when he bumped straight into my chest. It’s funny now, all these years later, but honestly, I was steaming!
The tense moment was cut by the waitress urging us to our table. I wanted to leave there and then, but ever the polite young woman my parents had brought me up to be, I followed her and continued with the evening.
The evening felt interminable, the food was very grey, apart from the beetroot, I remember everything seemed to have a lot beetroot and it all tasted the same anyway. TCC, sensing he was on the back foot, decided to tell me all about his latest chess competitions and insisted on regaling me move by move, about how good he was. It felt as though he thought his chess prowess would impress me and could outmanoeuvre his lack of stature. Sadly, that pawn was never going to be my knight in shining armour.
The evening dragged on and we eventually called for the bill. TCC obviously hadn’t read the signs and suggested another date. Never good at confrontation, I was too polite to say no, but reminded him it was considered rude to put a lady on the spot and we should catch up on text later. He offered to walk me to the station , but I assured him I was fine as it wasn’t late and there were lots of people around. I also remember splitting the bill with him as I’m always conscious to pay my way, especially if I know I’m never going to see them again.
I was so happy to catch my train and make my way home, but also somewhat furious at having spent precious time and over £100 on a date with a boring man who had lied about his height* and was a noisy masticator. I felt very short changed, in all senses of the meaning!
So dear singletons, the moral of this particular episode is don’t lie on your dating profiles, especially when it’s super obvious that the lie will be uncovered on the first date!
What are your dating non negotiables?
With love
Julia, AKA Just Me.
*Please believe me when I say I’m not ‘heightist’, I just like tall men and providing I’m upfront about it, there’s nothing wrong with that.