Advice Part 102- Dating Disasters Part 5 (otherwise known as "the date that never happened")

I realised today that it has been a while since I wrote about my dating disasters, as new material has not been forthcoming of late (whether for better or for worse). Hence, this story is being dredged from the very bowels of my collection, amidst the muddy, rotting detritus of awkward situations that I would prefer not to revisit with any regularity.....

But, that being said, I think it provides some useful advice to young players that if someone advises you NOT to approach a potential partner, it is often a good idea to take this warning seriously.

How do I know this? Read on.....

A few years ago, I was desperate. I am not ashamed to say this now, but it was a most grim time. My eyes were constantly open, seeking opportunities, and I thought I had hit the proverbial jackpot when my neighbour told me she was moving out, and she would be renting her apartment to her cousin.

The following conversation ensued:

• Me: So....Is your cousin a man or a lady?
• Her: A man
• Me: And how old is he? (subtlety was never my strong point)
• Her: 28. Around your age.
• Me (unable to believe my good fortune): And he's married?
• Her: No.
• Me (getting more and more excited): Single, then?
• Her: I'm not sure.
• Me: That's great! I can't wait to meet him! (Hell, relating this story now, I cringe at my level of desperation)
• Her (big pause): He's not the man for you.
• Me: Oh. Right. Fair enough, then. Umm.....

To be honest, I was a bit shocked by this. "Not the man for you"? What on earth did THAT mean? How did my neighbour know what sort of men were or weren't for me? I like to think of myself as very open-minded. Perhaps this guy was JUST the man for me! Or didn't she think I was good enough for him? That was a bit offensive. Or did he have some particular predilection for women of a certain "type" (e.g. blonde hair, Asian background) so that she knew in advance that he wouldn't have any interest in me?

My mind considered all possibilities, and, like a child who has been told that no, that sweet is "not the one for you", I became more and more determined to meet this elusive cousin.

But the day he arrived, I realised that she was right. He was NOT the man for me. Because not only was he in a relationship, but his partner was another guy.

Strangely enough, I was absolutely DELIGHTED by this discovery! There wasn't anything "wrong" with me, that made me an unsuitable dating prospect for the cousin. Rather, he was "not the man for me" because I was not a man for him, if that makes sense.

And I think that's a good thing.

Advice Part 58- Neighbours

Interesting fact- before I moved into my current apartment, I had only ever lived in houses. And this suited me just fine. I liked living in a self-contained place, with a garden, where I had the freedom to do what I liked within my own fences.

But apartment living is VERY different.

My advice to apartment-dwelling young players is that it is prudent to remember that there are other people VERY CLOSE BY if you decide to partake in unusual outdoor activities.

How do I know this? Read on.....

On Saturday, I decided to make a tiramisu. As we all know, I'm rubbish at cooking, so before I started my epic kitchen adventure, I decided to go for a walk to psych myself up. On the way back from said walk, I saw a sign in the vet's surgery saying "We want your old newspaper! Donations needed ASAP" with a picture of a sad looking cat beside it.

How could I resist such a plea for help? Answer: I couldn't

I had, however, already emptied my newspapers into my apartment block's bin, which meant that I would have to do a bit of a "bin raid" to get them back.

Still, no biggie.

However, I forgot about the newspapers the second I got home, and instead started merrily making the tiramisu. And (perhaps unsurprisingly) I decided I'd have to do a bit of "quality control testing" on the sherry used in the dessert. So I grabbed the nearest cup (the measuring jug I'd been using to whisk the eggs), and poured out an ample measure.

It was at this moment, whilst slurping sherry out of the measuring cup, that I remembered the papers. Fearing I'd forget about them again, I headed outside, drink in hand, and started digging around in the bin, tossing suitable papers over my shoulder, whilst taking sips from the cup and smacking my lips.

 

It was only when I turned around that I discovered my neighbour there. She had been watching me THE WHOLE TIME, and was looking absolutely horrified. After all, I was

• Drinking before midday
• Using a filthy measuring cup as my beverage receptacle AND
• Spending a copious amount of time foraging in the communal bin.

Oh dear. 

I gave her a friendly wave, but she quickly headed back inside, clearly believing I was mad.

Maybe I should take up dumpster diving for an encore?