25 August, 2010

The Set Up

Don't you just hate it when well-meaning friends introduce you to someone they just know is going to be perfect?  I'm not sure what's worse, the terrible disappointment when you meet them and realise they're completely wrong for you, or the thought that your friends think actually think you're a suitable match.

In fairness to my girlfriend, she'd not met the bloke before, it was a friend of her boyfriend's.  I mean, on paper he looked okay - mid thirties, stockbroker.  Except for the stockbroker bit.   He turned up in a pink plaid shirt, with a terribly conservative haircut.  Not a shred of cool to be found in a twenty foot radius.  Not chatty, not particularly charming, a bit old school.

The worst of it all, is that my friends not only made it clear to him that this was a set up, and that he should have a crack, but by way of introduction had told him about this blog.  Now this is Very Bad.  It's a rule I have that I never, ever tell potential dates about the blog.  No matter how much I like them.  Just in case, you know, later I want to write about them.  He commented rather wryly that he liked the story of the guy with chains on his shoes and said "I hope I don't end up on there!"

So, er, hi dude.

It was, by any measure, a lavish evening.  Bollinger, dinner at Rockpool, sixty dollar steaks, the works.  So I'm perusing the menu and I see this marvellous bottle of red that I used to drink when I could afford such things - the Giaconda Pinot.  So I'm all like "Wow, they've got the Giaconda!" followed by "Oh shit, we're not getting that", when I realised it was almost two hundred smackers a bottle.  My date waves his hand in the air "if you want it, have it!"  So I did.

Now I get really nervous about this sort of thing.  I'm not comfortable with it.  I'd rather go to the dumpling bar and drink a beer.  There's a couple of reasons.  I'm not very good at being a traditional girl, and having money thrown around to impress.  I'm just not.  But mostly, I hate hate hate feeling obligated to, you know, put out or something at the end of the night.  Which is kind of where I could see all this splashy cash leading.  The bill arrived, and the boys split it.  I offered.  I offered vociferously.  At least let me pay for the wine, I said. But they were having none of it.

We left the restaurant.  My pal and her fella were heading home.  Date turns to me and says "so you want to go for a drink?"  Now lesser women might have said "oh, what the hell" and gone to it.  But not your worthy correspondent.  Having consumed a bottle of pinot, half a bottle of Bolly and a couple of tequilas, I begged off and staggered into a cab, leaving him on the sidewalk with nary a kiss on the cheek.  Amazing I had the presence of mind really. 

And that, my darlings, was the end of that.

Author's Note:  I have to tell you that I have waited some months to publish this post.  It's weighed heavily on me.  And I confess, I have edited it somewhat to avoid hurting feelings.  So for those of you who are my friends, and are thinking of setting me up with one of your pals.  For fuck's sake, do NOT tell them about my blog.  And to my stockbroking friend -  if you read this, don't complain. You knew what you were in for.

1 comment:

  1. Love this, love everything I have read so far. And know your situation. Keep it up :)

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