A while ago now I planned a date with a woman who lives in London – an hour or so on the train from me. There was no real point her coming to me, and after a discussion about what even qualifies as a ‘date’ we thought we’d do something a little different.
So we went to the ballet.
As I met her off the train we walked and talked on our way into Soho. From there she took me to GAY. Shocker. A lesbian date in a gay bar. Now I’m not one of those people that worries about eating in front of someone for the first time, I’m not going to pick a salad to appear dainty and ladylike. But I don’t really like being that person that has stuffed their face beforehand and makes the other feel awkward about eating on their own. So there I am, stomach rumbling, thinking we’ll probably go for lunch somewhere.
After five or six rum and Cokes we realised we were close to missing the ballet. At this point I’m already feeling a little light headed. What came next? Well, you know when you’ve drunk too much and you feel as though a quick nap is on the agenda? Well, that.
So we’re sat side by side in the ballet, surrounded by posh old people who don’t appreciate our lezza checked shirts and occasional giggle. As the lights dimmed I felt myself nodding off and nudged Lisa* to find her slipping into her own alcohol coma.
As the interval hit, we looked at one another, unsure on what the other was thinking. “Rock paper scissors?”
Back in GAY, it was now early evening and full of gays half cut. We danced around like idiots at a wedding, getting on like a house on fire. Until an awkward moment presented itself. I caught a girl looking at me. But little did I know she was about to come over.
“Do you want to dance?” she asked. Had she not seen my moves? Nobody should get involved with them. Now, normally I’d be too British to say no, lumbering myself with some strange girl for the rest of my evening. But this time I didn’t feel like beating around the bush. Or beating her bush either.
“Erm no, thank you.” I replied. She didn’t look very amused by this. But what else was I supposed to do?
The dancing gay then quickly asked, “are you two together?” As if the situation wasn’t awkward enough already.
Thankfully Lisa* saw the funny side of it. Leaning forward and informing me that I’d “clearly broken that girl’s heart”, well, I am the type of evil person that’s intimate with someone before breaking up with them, so what did she expect?
*Of course I’m going to change her name.