Hello my dear Minxlettes!
To paraphrase the wonderful MC Hammer, it’s a brand new term so sound the bell, because school is in.
It has been an interesting summer with lots of changes. I have recently moved to another little corner of South Wales, and am now in my own little Minx pad (cushions and teapots and wine, oh my!). I have got a new job, roughly along the same lines as my old job, but this time based a little closer to the sea, and much closer to easy reach of Joe’s ice cream. 🙂
I have also been flitting about, dating, meeting lots of new people, and generally being my minxy self. Then…..BOOM!
A little while ago, I had (yet another) first date.
The gentleman in question was lovely. We met on Plenty of Fish. He was a little shy at first, but very quickly got me laughing. We have people in common – turns out we kind of know each other from 100 years ago, one of those, “Oh, yeah, I knew you/didn’t really know you” situations.
After chatting for a week or so he asked me out for a drink. I have to say this impressed me. A basic rule of thumb is if they like you enough, they’ll chase, and want to spend time with you. Very simple yes? Very bloody difficult when you’re as impatient as me, and being the modern woman I am, I usually end up asking them first. Unfortunately I was in the middle of upping sticks, so we had to raincheck a week or so.
And that’s when my brain got in the way.
Trouble is, I have had a lot of first dates. Which means two things. I keep attracting interest – good. My relationships don’t work out – bad. Like with anything in life, sometimes you just get a bit sick of trying and pissed off and you want to give up. I started thinking about the summer of false starts I’d had this year. Some interesting encounters, some random exes getting in touch from out of the blue (go fuck yourself Dave) some long distance potential that never went anywhere…..and although some were nice and a few were damn right sexy, and the occassional one had been a complete prick (but worth his weight in stories).. all of a sudden I just felt angry and really really tired.
At that point, I’d been single (not celibate) for about 7 months. I was settling into it, eventually. I’d gotten used to my own company. I was still having fun, but I’d just about decided to give up on meeting someone / having a meaningful relationship with someone. Perhaps not forever – I find the whole idea that there is only one person out there for each of us is complete and utter bullshit. Life isn’t a film…not one is that unique or special. There are loads of people out there just like you, who would be perfect for you….literally thousands. The trouble is there are 7 billion other people getting in the way, and you have to put in time and effort to find them.
And I couldn’t be arsed. I was quite happy to just carry on as I was… fuck buddies / random sex, no emotion, no commitment, no muss no fuss. Every time I opened up to someone and tried to bring emotion into it, it would completely fuck up. I just seemed to get too clingy / push them away at the first sign of trouble. I sound like I was feeling sorry for myself, and I kind of was, but at the same time, my track record was so shit, it became funny. Whenever people used to say the classic ” You’ll meet someone”, I’d be like Yeah. Sure. You believe your Disney fantasy, and good luck with those divorce statistics. Fuck love right up its arse. If I’ve got sex and Toblerones, I’m happy.
So basically, as I stomped off – and stomp I did – to the latest offering from the wonderful world of internet dating, I was not really “in that place”.
I’d had a long hard day, and the more I thought (and over-thought it), the more pissed off I got. “Why should I have to confirm to this bullshit when they’re all lying cheating scumbags, who rip your heart out, or are crap in bed, or are arrogant fuckwits…”
Stomp stomp stomp.
“I’m happy on my own…I’ve had enough of this….he’ll end up being a nobhead….”
“Who does he think he is”…
Yeah. I was being a right arsey twatbag.
And then, thank fuck, I called my mate Mikey. (Hey dude). This guy has known me for a really long time, and I love him to death because he’s brutally honest. He calls a spade a spade and a twat a twat. And yes, he called me a twat. But he was patient enough to explain why.
He knew that I’d been hurt a lot. He knew I was lonely, and scared of ending up alone for a long time, and was a little bitter about the way some of it had gone down. He knew I was basically taking all of my shit, and past, and mentally dragging it with me, to throw down at the feet of this guy, and that I was in the mood for a fight with a perfect stranger. I’m not sure what I was thinking to do next to the poor guy. Blamed him probably. Possibly ignored him. Being mean. Might even go batshit crazy and try and kill him with a bottle opener. Who knew?
I was nervous, tired, angry, and bringing my entire dating history, problems, expectations, issues and bad memories on the date. I was basically letting my past affect my present, and potentially fuck up my future. Like I said, I was being a right arsey twatbag.
Worse, I was being really really unfair. Both on my date and myself. As Mikey pointed out, this dude just wanted a drink with a girl, he didn’t know about any of this shit, and it wasn’t his fault. And I had to stop blaming myself, and being angry, as well as putting way too much pressure on myself. He didn’t bullshit and he didn’t lie. He didn’t tell me that this guy could be the one, or that if it didn’t work out, I’d meet someone. He told me straight. No, it might not work out, and yes he could be a dick, and maybe I would be alone for a bit longer or a lot longer. But he also told me that it was going to be OK. I’d managed to cope alone, and was getting there.
I got the pub, having calmed down a tiny bit…and saw my date waiting inside at the bar. I was still on the phone to Mikey…….
“It’s just a date dude. Just have the drink and see how you feel and take it from there”.
I agreed, and said I’d call him later. I took a deep shaky breath and went in…….and was met by a fantastic smile and sparkly pair of eyes. My date offered to get in a round of drinks, and I smiled and asked for a pint. As we were waiting at the bar, I got a text from Mikey:
“You knows I love you. If he is anything short of bedazzlingly intelligent, well read, and staggeringly handsome (me) don’t bother. Or failing all of this, he makes you laugh and feel comfortable and safe (still me) get on it. If he is also tall (not me) I hope you know I’ll hate him forever. x ”
Something clicked in my head. Golden rule number 2….each first date is exactly that. A fresh start. Treat every first date as if it’s your first EVER date, and don’t let your past turn you into an grumpy cynical twatbag.
I realised that yeah, I did deserve someone amazing, and I had to stop dragging my past around with me and putting so much pressure on myself, and just enjoy it for what it is and see what happens.
I turned to find a cold pint of Fosters and the amazing smile waiting for me………………..
Now I have no idea what the ending of this story will be. 🙂 But for the first time in my life, because of a really good friend being honest, I’m not quite as scared or worried about it.
Oh, and Mikey?
Mr WelshMinx says to say thank you