So you’re clean, green and shaven. You’ve done your essay, hidden the pizza boxes and put on your lucky underpants. You’ve been preparing all day and your introduction speech is covered: “Ehllo. Mai name iz—and chou are—how lovely to meet chou—I do really love ze color of your… tonsils?!” Yes, that’s right, you’ve got to hit ‘em fast with stunner lines and quirky antics to make a good impression… and on the off-chance that it all goes horribly pear-shaped, you’re gonna kill that son-of-a-bitch, Larry, who set this up in the first place.
When on a “Blind date”, one should remember two things; don’t expect Mr. or Ms. Perfect to be waiting for you, and be prepared to run.
When I was in high school I was told about this cool guy, he played football, drove a fast car and drummed in a band. We had a mutual friend who was dating his buddy so she jacked up a lunch date for the four of us. I walked into the Dux De Lux wearing lip-gloss, a short skirt and plenty of Impulse. They were sitting around a large bowl of wedges and the cool guy was really sexy. After being there for just half an hour he asked me to “Go for a ride around the Cashmere Hills in his WRX” I said, “sure”, but was thinking: That’s not all I’ll ride!
We got to the parking lot and his beasty looking machine was in front of us, so just before we jumped in I said, “Nice paint job,” and ended up regretting it for the next two hours—he literally spent the entire drive talking about his car. I couldn’t get a word in. When we finally came back to town I asked him to take me home, and he started to speed up. He was driving really fast and I yelled out, “SLOW DOWN!” He laughed and said, “I KNOW WHAT I’M DOING!” Then he drifted into the next corner and as the car’s rear end swung around, the entire front piece of his car’s body kit dislodged itself and slid out across the road in front of a passing truck. It went by with a crunch as he screeched to a halt and started yelling, “Oh no!! NO!!”, then he got out and ran over to his smashed-up car-piece and started crying. I could still hear him whimpering as I quietly slid out of the passenger door and ran off down the street.
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When I was living in Auckland my hairdresser told me about this great guy. Apparently he was gorgeous, polite and loaded. So she organised for us to meet for brunch at Pragos, a swanky café in Ponsonby. When I arrived he was in one of the V.I.P. Booths, picking at an expensive-looking platter. Apart from being an absolute stunner, he owned his own software company, drove a BMW and prompted me to order so much fine wine and cuisine that I felt pampered and smitten. As he excused himself to go to the bathroom an entire flock of old ladies seated themselves at the table nearest our booth.
Now, this guy had been seated since I arrived, so it wasn’t until he stood up that I realised how short he was. Like half a foot shorter than me! And as he walked past the nearby group I overheard an old woman say something like, “What a lovely wee fellow.” At first I chuckled, as did they, but then he turned on us all and screamed, “Keep your wrinkly, old mouths shut.” I was totally stunned, and decided that the best possible thing to do was grab the last piece of salmon and run as fast as I could to the nearest bus stop!
Most recently, I had been waitressing at a sleazy strip-joint in town when one of the bouncers told me about this really hot guy who cleaned the big swimming tanks. Apparently he was keen on me and, although we had never met, he wanted to go on a date. I had just broken up with my ex-boyfriend and figured, yeah, I might as well. So it was organised and late one Friday night we met at Fidel’s for coffee. We totally clicked and the whole atmosphere was off the wall. We switched from coffee to vodka. He kept showing me his stomach muscles and flexing his biceps, which I thought was great, considering my drunken state.
Both of us were pretty smashed and headed to Courtney Place for a dance in the clubs. At one point he gave me his wallet and asked me if I could go and buy more drinks. A few moments later I had returned to the floor but couldn’t find him. Suddenly I heard him screaming through the crowd. There he was standing on a table, stripping off his shirt, pointing at me and saying, “This one’s for you!” All of the people around were clapping and cheering and he was down to his underpants by the time a bouncer got to him and dragged him away. I made it outside just in time to see the bouncer, a policeman and some Safety Street people pushing him, still half naked, into the back seat of a taxi. He saw me through the fray, punched the policeman in the face, stretched out his arm and screamed out my name. Not knowing what else to do, I just turned and walked, as fast and casual as I could, down the street and around the corner.
So, there you have it kids, blind dates can be both disastrous and dangerous. One should always go in with a plan of action and an open mind. Don’t be fooled by good looks, nice paint-jobs and heavy bank balances. If you come across a guy who punches cops, likes to strip and will scream your name in public… Be sure to hold on to his wallet so that you can see him for a second date.