Random Date Disaster.

So, I really have no room to complain, since it was I who actually agreed to Disastrous Random Date.  But, really, I think something needs to be done regarding date etiquette.

A Monday evening, after possibly the most Morbid Monday of the year, was possibly not the best night to go out on a date.  But I'm embracing singledom - so I got ready, make-up on, high-heel shoes blah blah blah - you know, the expected attire for possible romantic evening.

I probably should have cancelled moments after The Devil Worshipper had bludgeoned my mouth - unanaesthetised - with hooks and metal clasps and things that basically caused so much pain that I was unable to speak for a good 6 hours afterwards. 

Anyway, Date Man arrived, to pick me up at arranged time.

I wasn't even going to have to mention that I, in high heels, had to help push-start his clapped-out shaggin' wagon (it actually had a sticker saying Love-Mobile on it).  Because, quite frankly, the date's poor start was the highlight of it, completely.

It's not even that I had too much of a problem with going Dutch.  I don't mind doing Dutch.  Especially if Dutch is a hot single man with a bone fide accent.  And a bone fide, um, bone.  But paying for a date sticks quite awkwardly in my throat.

It was the fact that we had nothing to talk about and, it would seem, less in common.  I am not all that interested in turning and fitting (is that what he was telling me??) of machinery.  The only machinery I am au fair with is the type that is battery operated.  And has three speeds: Slow, Medium and Oh-My-God-Again-Again.

But the lowlight, for me, dear friends, is when Random Date Man tried to make a joke:

Random Date Man:  Why did the banana go to the hospital?

The Pant:  Why would you say that to me you wicked wicked awful man?

RDM:  No.  You're supposed to say I don't know.

TP:  You don't know?  You think that's some kind of excuse?  Did you not google my likes and dislikes?

RDM:  Huh?

TP:  You're talking about... the... "B" word.  Don't you know I have a phobia of them?  Like they scare the bejesus out of me?  And before you get onto the whole phallic thing, I'm quite comfortable with the eating of and touching of cucumbers and carrots.  Even baby marrows.  But they're a bit small.  But bananas - you selfish, thoughtless man.

Apparently he didn't know about this phobia.

RDM:  Well, it wasn't peeling well.

Conversation after said ice-breaker joke was, at very least, stagnant.  It was when he ordered a bacon and banana pizza that I slipped off to the bathroom.

The Pant:  PLEASE come and fetch me.  Immediately.  I don't have my car.

Carlos:  Why didn't you take your car?

TP:  I don't drink and drive.  And I don't date and stay sober.  Phone me in three minutes and tell me The Daughter needs me.  Please.  I'll do anything for you.   Except open mouth kiss The BF (my people) for you so you can take a photo.

And, three minutes later, the date ended.  Except Random Date Man offered me a lift home.  And so I had to push start his car uphill.

Are there any decent single men out there?  Crikey.