Many years ago, The BF, my people, and I embarked on The Year of The Date.
One of such date men is now a teacher at the school at which I planted a tree. It was possibly the worst date I have ever been on. I went to great lengths to avoid discussion with said man, whom, for the purposes of this blog, we'll call Hideous With A Capital H. I even attempted jumping into the handbag of Other Single Mom Who Smoked. Sadly, I could only fit two limbs.
When I attempted said dive, Other Single Mom shrieked.
OSM: What the hell are you doing?
TP: Hiding from that hideous specimen of human man over there.
TP: I dated him. Once. Two hours of my life I'll never get back.
OSM: But you're pretty and he's super mega-fugly.
TP: Thanks, but now's not the time for flattery. Hide me. Quick.
Later, as we were ambling towards the rainforest planting site, I was forced to relive the memory of said date with Other Single Mom. I guess when you've been inside someone's handbag, had one of their tampons lodge itself in your earball, you've really got to share your secrets.
Within seconds, she was rolling on the floor in hysterics. Lucky she was not wearing white, like me. And also lucky that she could find the humour in what was, for me, possibly the worst two hours of my life.
Hideous With A Capital H and I were due to work at the same school. I was hammered, at Frankie's. It was 4 am. I become friendly at around this time. In fact, The Pant spends the hours of 02h00 - 04h00 "Making New Friends". And one of the friends I made, on that fateful night, was Hideous With A Capital H. Now, before you get all judgmental on my ass, I didn't kiss this guy. I have kissed other hideous numbers, but this one, well, there was just no way.
And so he approached me, and asked if I'd like to go out for coffee some time, so he could give me advice on how to deal with the disciplining of boy children. I needed help then, so I agreed.
A few days and texts later, we were due to meet for lunch at Mugg & Bean at a nearby mall. I put in effort. Cargo pants, vest, touch of make-up. Look, I wasn't at my height of sexy, but the date certainly didn't warrant it.
We were due to meet at 1 o'clock. He arrived at 1.15. Wearing!! Nondescript white takkies. You know, like proper Running-On-The-Road shoes, except (forgive my snobbiness) not label. With rugby socks. Rolled down. And, do you know those elasticated waist, short-long-long-short boardshort material thingymajiggies? From Mr Price? A black pair. With two white stripes down the side. And on top, he was wearing a grey La Coste top. You know, it could have been fine, if it had actually fitted him. But it didn't, and the sleeves were three-quarters on him. And it was old, like it had been slept in for thirty days straight with those little bally things.
I could go on for days about his BO, but, quite frankly, I'd like to keep my lunch down.
Look, the mere memory of this date tires me beyond belief. But there are two things that I need to mention so you can understand why I was inside handbag of Other Single Mom.
1) He prayed for a full twenty minutes when his meal arrived. OUT LOUD. Look, I love Jesus, really I do. And I'm all for thanking him for my food. But a full on spectacle of prayer on a date! Seriously!
2) I paid for the meal. Now, I'm all for chicks' rights and all, but I don't do paying for lunch. And the reason I paid? Because he forgot his wallet. Who the sam hell goes on a date without a wallet? I paid because I had to get out of there - immediately!
I got in my car. And before I had even put beloved Wanda into reverse, my phone beeped:
Wld u lyk 2 do dat agen?
Yes, Freak Boy, I'd love to take you out to lunch again, so I can gag on your BO.