Thith Ith Ridiculith.
Last night’s date was via Lovestruck.com.
The Place: Covent Garden
The Drinks: Champagne
I met the gentleman at a bar in Covent Garden. To my dismay, he had picked a place that was blatantly advertising a two-for-one coupon for after-work drinks. Really? I mean, are we that obvious?
Not that “cheap” wasn’t cute. It’s just that he wasn’t cute. He did, however, look exactly like his picture, but what was weird was that there seemed to be a stretchiness to his picture (like when HD isn’t real HD and everything seems really narrow), which of course I attributed to the internet/display pictures being what they are (mostly dreadful). Big mistake. His face actually was so narrow I felt like at any moment he might bang out a bag of the white stuff on the horrible lounge table and start using his forehead to carve lines.
Here’s where things took a turn for the “worth”. He had managed to conceal a fairly ridiculous speech impediment during out chat on the phone prior to meeting – so he was obviously aware of it. However, you can’t really hide such a thing when you’re yelling “Garthon! More Thampagne!” Before you think of me as even bigger bitch, I really don’t mind if someone has a speech impediment, or is missing an arm, or an eye, or whatever; but tell the person about it beforehand/don’t hide it. Hiding it just makes it a filthy, dirty secret. In fact, if you’ve got a face like the Man in the Moon, you ought to be disclosing that as well. If Jay Leno has to, so do you, buddy. You probably get a tax credit for it, anyway.
After accepting a second drink from him I indicated that I didn’t feel any love connection, and he began to sulk. I “pomised” we should “be friends” and then I ran like the wind to the tube station saying “See you never!”