I have done a little empirical research over the years - in the very scientific manner of gossiping with mates over countless bottles of wine - and it is official: I have endured the worst dates EVER. I mean I've had to sit by and watch a man with brown teeth and orange fingers leave a grand total tip of 50c - which he so proudly proffered with the words, "Please! Keep the change.". I've had to watch a man pray, on his knees, for close on three-quarters of an hour and with such vigour that there were people in Kimberly who could hear it. I've had to sit through dinners in which the man opposite me has droned on and on (and on) about what a bitch his ex-wife is and how wonderful the world would be if she, say, somehow disappeared.
I've had my fair share of charmers, let me assure you.
But my most recent date is one that I choose to immortalise in this forum as The Worst Date Of Living Breathing Independent Woman Ever. And I mean that: EVER.
Biggest Cocksucker (very briefly known as Mr Saturday) was most eloquent in ticking every box in The How Not To Impress The Pant information brochure. Truly, his skill is, if it wasn't so downright offence, something to behold.
So, here's a little guide on how not to impress The Pant.
1. Cock Up First Date In A Most Splendid Manner.
I probably should have gathered that a date set for moments after a Rugby World Cup match in which South Africa would be playing would not turn out to be the finest, but I figured that a guy who is supposedly chomping at the bit with eager anticipation could at very least try and remain sober. Even soberish. Not so.
Biggest Cocksucker was pretty inebriated a good two hours prior to date and thus began bargaining on venue for date, start time of date and, eventually, end time of date. It moved from meeting for a drink, to going to one of his mates' for a braai (um....?) to (and you'll love this), "I'm just going to stay over at yours. It'll be nice to cook you breakfast in bed."
Biggest Cocksucker, I don't do breakfast or bed with you. Ever.
And so I put the brakes on before ever having to clap eyes on him. This whole 'self-respect' thing seems to do a bit of governing.
But I felt guilty. The man evidently is not made of wood. His eyes are not painted on and as such could not really help his feelings or his lust and so I agreed to meet him. At a restaurant. His display of unrefined chauvinism and lack of, well, basic decency from the minute we met to the moment we parted was spectacular indeed.
2. Discourage The Pant From Eating
The Pant: Excuse me waiter, could I have a quick perusal of your menu. I am staaaaaaaaarving
Biggest Cocksucker: (addressing the waiter) Don't worry about it.
TP: (bemused). What? Have you already decided what I'm going to eat?
BC: (chuffed) No! I would never do that, Pant. I'm really not that kind of guy.
TP: (more bemused) Then why did you tell the waiter not to worry?
BC: I didn't want you to be embarrassed-
TP: How could I possibly be embarrassed?
BC: I figured you hadn't seen the time.
TP: (seriously confused) And so?
BC: It's after 8.
TP: (now worried that may have missed something big) Ya?
BC: You know if you eat after 8 it all turns to fat and you don't want that do you?
Really? I can't eat after 8? You've got to be fucking kidding me.
3. Offend The Pant
BC: So... Who's the guy that always writes on your wall about his vagina?
TP: Oh, that's My Future Ex-Husband Who Has Less Than No Desire To Actually Caress My Inner Thigh.
BC: (visibly upset) But he doesn't have a vagina. Why does he talk like he does?
TP: All gay men have manginas.
BC: (face turning such a scarlet my lips by comparison appeared anaemic) HE'S GAY?!?!?
TP: (quite enjoying the discomfort of the old school rugger bugger, who was most definitely was so far out of his depths, he'd have lost his way trying to touch the sand, was displaying) Well, what do you mean by 'gay'?
BC: (still fuming) Like he digs other okes?
TP: Same as you? Yes, I suppose.
BC: (really effing angry now) I AM NOT GAY!!
TP: You play rugby. You like boys' weekends. I didn't say you were gay.
BC: Well, I don't shag boys.
TP: That's good to know.
BC: Gays are evil.
TP: I beg your pardon?
BC: The Bible says so.
TP: I'm sorry. Could we just back track a minute. Did you just say, 'Gays are evil'?
TP: And you've just said this to a person who would be hard pressed to list five straight friends?
BC: (incredulous) You hang out with gays?
TP: No, I hang out with people, my friends. Some of them prefer to involve themselves in same sex relationships.
BC: (confused, again): So do you hang out with gays or not?
TP: I'd really rather not have this conversation with you (under breath) you bigoted fuck stick.
4. Miss The Boat Completely
BC: So, you really want to go to India on your own?
TP: I really do. I want to do something for myself on my own.
BC: So, do you want to score Indians?
5. Not Pick Up On ANY Of The Signs At All.
We took our final drink outdoors, under an umbrella, while the rain pelted. This gave Biggest Cocksucker what he perceived to be a most opportune moment to cosy up to me offering warmth. I was thinking two things: 1) Thank God my brothers spent the majority of my youth standing by with stop watches as they forced me to down draught glasses of Oros to see if we could showcase a family boat race team; and 2) How very glad I was that the date was drawing to a close.
And then it happened: he lunged.
Seriously, pal? What the fucking fuck?
Now, I'm not talking about the-could-this-be-mistaken-for-a-peck-on-the-cheek-lunge, the man actually opened his mouth and dived mouth first in my direction, aiming for my own succulents apace - IN A PUBLIC PLACE. After he'd insulted gays, forbidden me from eating and suggested the only reason I'd go on an overseas holiday is to partake in some kind of fuck fest!
I counter-lunged, with speed, as though a rattle snake had struck. I actually recoiled and screamed, completely involuntarily, "Woooooaaaaah tiger" with my hands raised protectively.
TP: I'm sorry. I'm just not (attracted to you you homophobic chauvenistic pig) ready for a quick relationship. I need to take things slowly (so slowly, in fact, BC, that I'd like things to go in reverse, and undo this whole date altogether.)
BC: I wasn't trying to score you.
TP: Um... Yes you were.
BC: I just wanted to feel your lips against mine-
TP: And your tongue, in my mouth?
So here's the deal Biggest Cocksucker, my lips are reserved for men who can a) write in full sentences; and b) understand the etiquette of basic human interaction. You're so not that guy.