You know the drill, one boy and one girl, both completely foreign to each other, and one free meal. We hook it up, (courtesy of The Establishment and a 200 dollar meal at their fine restaurant) step right out and let love take it’s course… et cetera. And by love we actually mean subtle character observations and never getting it on. The catch? You both owe us 400 words. To take part in future blind dating email email@example.com with some details about yo’ self.
A friend of mine from a distant land was leaving the night before. We drank, and we drank, and we drank. And then crashed out for a few hours. And then kept on drinking. Not being monetarily endowed I don’t have the capacity to travel to distant lands. So I wanted to send him off in style. It is probably a sad indictment that said style involved him reeking of tequila and struggling though customs. But it was 4pm. We had celebrated. But the date was in three hours and I was quite drunk.
I chose to not go home (I couldn’t guarantee that I would return). I decided instead to borrow some clothes off a friend who lived nearby and kill time at the movies. Little good it did. I was still amazingly drunk. And You, Me, and Dupree is a horrible movie.
I don’t even know why I volunteered for a date, I’m more sociopathic than sociable. That’s the catch of this concept. It seems funny at the time, but when you’re outside clothed in your friends stuffy Rodd ‘N’ Gunn and doused in bad cologne to hide the smell of spirits it’s more terrifying than anything else. “Hi, how are you? Don’t mind the smell of bourbon, I’m an emotionally defunct alcoholic.”
I was drunk enough that conversation flowed. She was nice enough. But aren’t they all? Doesn’t it always start off with an ‘oh, she’s nice’ and end up with loud voices and flying plates? But anyway. We talked about my old girlfriend who decided that she actually liked girls. I talked a bit about possum shooting and about this one time I met Jack Black. Then the meals arrived, and desperate to sponge up the alcohol and stop the room spinning I ate a little too much. I threw up, and ordered a whiskey and settled myself with the fact I wasn’t good for much conversation on this date. Better drunk than asleep in the scheme of things. I let her talk for a bit, and sort of nodded. She was pretty dull. She drank wine and got tipsy quickly. She talked more. She kissed me. Maybe girls like listeners?
The rest, as they say, is history.
I left her house the next day, though I don’t remember doing so. I woke up the next day about midday, home safe without the awkward morning interaction (I mean I couldn’t really remember?). I don’t know if I gave her my phone number, but just to be safe I told my flatmates that I wouldn’t take any calls. “What should we say?” They said. “Be creative,” I instructed them.
Girls for me are like a good sandwich y’know? They don’t come along that often, but when they do, you should enjoy it but don’t make too big a deal about it. There’ll always be another one stupid enough to sleep with you.
I’d have to be the first person in Salient blind date history to say that I’m not in it for the free food; I’m in it to find true love. Yes, true love. I want a farm boy. Poor. Poor and perfect, with eyes like the sea after a storm… I want my Westly. And after months of persuasion James finally relented and let me go on a blind date. My big chance was finally here.
I raced home, put on my favourite dress, and curled my hair. I still had some time to kill so I watched The Princess Bride to get in the mood – that movie always reaffirms my faith that love is out there, waiting. I was ready.
I arrived on time, was seated, and ordered a Coke. I waited, and then waited some more. Forty minutes later he finally arrived! But I didn’t care, because from the moment he introduced himself, I realised he was worth the wait. Jack had smouldering brown eyes that were all squinty and cute, and he smelt like a real man, a rugged man. He seemed like the kind of guy who would scale the cliffs of insanity and fight his way through a fire swamp for you. It was love at first sight.
At the start of the night the conversation flowed, I had never met anyone so talkative! I really felt like he opened up to me. He talked about how he hated lesbians and enjoyed shooting possums. Such traditional masculinity excited me! To top it off he had this really endearing speech impediment where he slurred his words a little. He even knew a famous person! He quietened down at the end of the night, but I knew he was just struggling to acclimatise to the mass of feelings that was welling up between us.
At the end of the night I dived right in and kissed him. He asked if he could come back to my place. It was the most tender, beautiful, passionate lovemaking I have ever experienced. He was completely silent from the moment he entered my room, till the moment he left. The silence was so moving, it boarded on spiritual. I knew this was love.
But tragically this fairy tale romance ends in woe. The next afternoon I called his flat and learned of his fated end. Apparently Jack died on his way home having battled rodents of unusual size. While I am deeply shaken by the news, I am comforted by the immortal words of Westley “death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while.”