#baddatetale

[fatgirlsguidetodating]

Blog: Bad Date tale 5. A date with a little extra.

NB: It's been awhile since I wrote a blog post but I really do want to get back into this. I had promised ages ago to write about some more of my bad dates as well as more of my guides what with this blog being called fatgirls guide to dating and all. So let me tell you all about this bad date. Though it’s testing my memory as it was awhile ago- like back in maybe 2016?- so I’m relying on messages to friends or my date sent at the time as well as my memory.]

Blog: Bad date tale 5. A date with a little extra.

Setting: Luna Park- an amuesement Park in Melbourne’s beachside St. Kilda.

Who: Zane. Late 30’s. Bit scruffy. Works in the music industry.

How I met them: He was Facebook friends with a good friend of mine and we often chatted on statuses on there before he sent me a message. After awhile he asked for my number, I gave it not really expecting him to bother with texting me but- clearly- he did.

What happened: We arranged to meet at Luna Park with thoughts of maybe finding a bar or something afterwards. I was about 5 mins early (something not common as I’m almost always late; I was born a few weeks late and have been late ever since). I wait 20 mins and am starting to wonder if I’ve gotten the day or something wrong (not outside the realm of possibility with me tbh) when he arrives. Except he isn’t alone.

With him is a young boy- I thought maybe 7, later told he was 9- who he is practically dragging and who looks incredibly sullen. “I’m so sorry, my ex had an emergency so I’ve got L today.” Zane tells me.

Until this moment I hadn’t even known L existed but I like kids and I’d honestly never met any kids who didn’t like me. “Hey L, I’m A, nice to meet you.” I say brightly. L just shrugged. Clearly the feeling wasn’t mutual here.

“So,” says Zane. “Who’s ready for some fun?”

He puts his hand up, I follow suit, we look at L but his hand remains stubbornly at his side. Oh boy. This is going to be a loooong day, I think.

We buy our tickets- it’s cheaper to buy the unlimited rides tickets if you intend to use quite a few rides rather than the single ride ones- and the teenager at the kiosk asks, “family ticket?”

Before either Zane or I can speak L says, “no!”

The teenager looks nonplussed but L elaborates anyway. “We’re *not* a family! My mum is part of it, not her.” He says gesturing to me.

Yep. This is really going to be a long arse day...

The ticket situation sorted we head inside.

“What’s your fave ride?” Zane asks me.

“Any ghost train type ones or roller coasters.” I respond. I look down at L. “How about you?”

He shrugs. “Most. I like dodgem cars.” He replies.

“You like the ghost train too.” Zane points out.

“Used to. It’s for babies now.” L says.

I wonder if I can go on the ghost train and some ghoul can kidnap me and get me away from this. But I’m determined to make the most of the situation. I’m not letting L, the 9 year old dictator, ruin a date I’d actually been looking forward to given my intense feelings about dates.

“But it’s fun to be scared.” I say.

“Only babies get scared on the ghost train.” L says.

Zane gives me an apologetic look, one that will become his default setting today. “Well let’s see.” Zane says.

So we go on the ghost train: Zane and L in front, me in the back. I must admit to being tempted to grab L throughout the ride to scare him but I don’t because I’m mature. I do stick my tongue out at the back of his head in the dark though. So maybe not *totally* mature then?

When we get off Zane asks, “that was fun wasn’t it?”

“Yes.” I say.

“No.” L says at the same time.

Zane gives me another apologetic look but I am determined still. At least, at this stage, I am. “So you said you like dodgem cars? Should we try them next?” I ask our little dictator.

“I guess.” L says. He is trying to look sullen or uninterested but it’s clear he does want that ride. Progress I naively think.

We get to the dodgem cars and it’s the same seating arrangement as the last (at this rate, I think a tad bitterly, I’m not going to get anywhere near my date) and as the little dictator looks at me I see an evil glint in his eye and I want to pull out of the ride because I don’t much fancy being chased around by the pint sized terrorist. But I’m not giving him the satisfaction.

So I get in my car and I wonder if it’s a little cruel/dramatic/immature for wanting to take the little bugger out? It’s not that I’m mad that there’s a kid on my date- I’m actually not- but rather that I’m fairly sure this kid is going to have people goose-stepping any moment.

There aren’t many others on the ride so I can’t even hide as L dictates where they go. “Get her!” He screams.

Get me they do. Though Zane doesn’t do it as hardcore as his little devil spawn wants as evidenced by his pouting and pointing out his dad “went easy on [her].”

L wants to go again and I honestly don’t think I’ve ever been as relieved when Zane says not yet. Thank. Fuck.

“How about a roller coaster next?” Zane offers.

“I’m in.” I say.

“As long as it’s not that stupid baby one.” L says.

We wander over to the biggest roller coaster- the one that offers those great views of St Kilda and the bay and the city- to check if there are age/height restrictions. Sadly our favourite little dictator doesn’t quite make the grade and as a result throws what I can only describe as an epic tantrum.

“Are you sure we can’t go on? He’s so close to the minimum height,” Zane asks the bored looking worker.

“It’s minimum. That means he has to be that tall minimum.” The worker says slowly, like Zane’s an idiot.

“Sorry L, next time we come you��ll be tall enough.” Zane tells his son apologetically.

L isn’t placated at this.

“We could try the other ones.” I offer. I know, I know- it is mean of me given L’s hatred of the “stupid baby one” but what can I say, somehow this kid brings out my petty side. If only he was like 99% of kids who loved me and who I got along great with.

“No! I hate this! I don’t like her!” L wails loudly.

“Stay here a moment.” Zane tells his son and he leads me a few metres away.

“I’m really sorry A. I knew he didn’t take the breakup easily but I didn’t think he’d be this...rude.” He says quietly.

As it’s considered poor form to tell someone their kid is a total brat and you want to put him in the spinning tea-cups, up the speed exponentially until the g-force is high enough for the little dictator to pass out I say it’s okay.

“It’s not. Look I’ll understand if you want to call it a day. We could go do something another time. A child free time?” He offers.

I hesitate. I want to take him up on his offer and escape before L orders “off with (my) head. But I don’t want to wave the white flag and admit defeat. At least not just yet.

“Let’s try a couple more rides?” I offer.

Zane’s eyes light up. “For real?”

I confirm that I am, indeed, for real.

So we go back to L. We go on a few more rides but many of the ones L wants to try have height limits he doesn’t meet. So we decide on a new tack- the carnival games. Over an hour or so we fail to win all the big stuffed toys and instead what I’m kindly describing as “plastic junk”, all of which Zane and I carry.

“Listen mate, one more try only.” Zane tells his son.

Cue tanty.

But Zane stays strong. L tries the classic carnival game of the clowns but doesn’t get what he wants to win.

By this stage it’s getting a bit cool and rains threatening. “I know we were going to go to a bar or something but, well, you know...” Zane says.

“It’s cool.” I say.

“We could go get something to eat anyway?” Zane offers.

L doesn’t like this plan because he wants a hot dog from the amusement Park despite his father suggesting we’ve spent enough money and we can get cheaper and better food elsewhere.

I don’t like this plan because I’ve had my fill of L. (My friends later say that I managed the whole date even with L carrying on was worthy of the massive glass of wine I poured myself when I got home.) So we go our seperate ways, with plans to go for a drink another time. A child-free time.

Outcome: We actually do have another date. A pleasant child free date with alcohol. However we both agree the chemistry that we had via text and chats over the phone isn’t there in person. But, for once, there’s a somewhat happy ending. We remain friends. At least for awhile. But then he got back together with his ex- our mini Stalin L would have been delighted after seeing off at least 3 challengers that I knew of- and he dropped off the face of the earth. Happy Facebook photos replaced his quotes about children and fathers. A quick check of my Facebook friends list just now confirms he’s gone, but I don’t know when exactly this happened.

[fatgirlsguidetodating]

Blog: Bad date tale 4. The Ex Files.

Setting: A cocktail bar in Swanston Street.

Who: Mark, a late 30’s primary school teacher.

How I met him: Online, RSVP. My second online date after the disaster that was Wayne.

What happened: Mark and I meet on the steps out the front of Flinders Street. “Under the clocks” for any Melburnians reading this. We had been chatting about 6 weeks before this meeting. He looked a little different than his photos- a little older, a little grayer, not quite as athletic but was still a handsome man and hell I’m the last person to harp on about looks and photos- but I spot him easily enough and he sees me and makes a beeline for me. He gives me a kiss, I assume it’s aimed for the cheek but instead he kisses me on the lips which takes me back a little as I’m not used to that informality in a greeting by someone I don’t know but it doesn’t bother me. It’s windy, but not super cold for a November, and we decide to walk up the road rather than jump on a tram which would be pretty busy this time of night on a Tuesday. As we walk we talk. It’s easy to talk to him. Our talk is playful, as our online chats have always been banter, and thus it makes me instantly comfortable, like I’ve known him for longer than I have. At the cocktail bar he pulls my seat out for me (20 points to Gryffindor) and then we sit down. We order: him a red wine, me an espresso martini.

“My ex loved those.” He says.

“Cool. She had good taste then.” I reply.

“HAD.” He corrects me with a grin. “She broke up with me after all.”

“Had then.” I agree.

I don’t know it right then but this will be the theme of our date.

We already know a lot about one another so most of our conversation is joking around. I know his fave footy team, drink, food, place to visit, dream holiday, dream job, dream place to live etc. In some respects this is good because it, like I said earlier, makes me feel like I’ve known him forever. But when a silence looms here and there I can’t think of much to ask to bring the chatting back. I notice occasionally something I say or do brings a sort of frown to his face or he looks like he’s a million miles away (turns out it’s more like 28 k’s).

We get another drink- this time I go for a mojito. He has another wine. “My ex hated mojito’s.” He tells me.

“Oh-Kay.” I say, not really sure how I’m meant to respond to this.

And suddenly it’s like the floodgates have opened!

We get something to eat, to share; a plate of wedges with sour cream and chilli sauce. (His ex was obsessed with chilli I find out.) When I inadvertently get some chilli sauce in the sour cream he is pissed off. “Can’t you keep them separate?” He complains.

I don’t think this is a major crime but it turns out that even though he likes both sauces he doesn’t like them being mixed in their little bowls. Just on his wedges and in his stomach.

“My ex always did that, she’s such a fucking messy eater. I kept threatening to buy her a bib.” He tells me.

Sigh.

For the next 42 minutes (yes I counted) before I could make a good excuse to leave I learnt more about what his ex liked and didn’t like than I did about him. It was clear from the way he spoke about her he wasn’t still in love with her (like bad date tale #3 Wayne), but he clearly wasn’t totally over the breakup either.

I went to the bathroom where I wondered how in movies or tv shows they manage to escape out a window or through a back entrance when clearly that was not possible. Plus I couldn’t bring myself to do something like that anyway. Instead I resorted to ringing my friend and getting her to ring me in 10 minutes with an emergency.

And she does. Though I have a crazy hard time keeping a straight face at her Emergancy: “I need you to take me to the ER, I got a dildo stuck up my butt and I can’t turn it off or get it out,” is her excuse.

Though I tell him she’s hurt her leg.

“Can’t someone else take her?” He asks.

I put on a disappointed face, give a rueful shrug and say, “nope, I wish but no. Still that’s what best friends are for right?” (I’m still awaiting my Oscar from this performance btw!) It’s only later I wonder why he didn’t think about the fact that I’m not exactly in the position to drive.

We pay- halves- and he walks me to the tram stop. “You kicking on?” I ask.

“Nah, going to go pick up some things from my exes.” He says.

Shocker. (His ex lives in Chelsea- just over 28 Ks from the city.)

We say goodbye and part ways.

Outcome: He texts me a few days later and says he’s had a great time and wants to see me again. I reply that I had a nice time but I’m pretty busy the next few weeks. I don’t hear from him again. But I do see on Facebook a month and a bit later he’s in a relationship with a lady from India. (Not the ex!) Nice enough guy, we get along perfect, but I couldn’t deal with ghosts of girlfriends past.