The dessert menu

Three years ago, I had been single for about a month and I had just moved from a small town to a city. I was busy trying to embrace this whole modern man inner city living vibe. Everything was new and I had decided that I should maybe start dating. My home town protocol was just go out with someone you knew from school or from the local pub, but in the metropolis of Aberdeen there were endless ways of meeting people. 

I decided to sign up to a dating website. I started talking to a few girls and after a few days of chatting to one in particular we decided to go on a date. Now that was an instant new one on me, I had never dated before, so I went with classic movie activities …nice restaurant, nice meal, bottle of wine. Nothing mental.

The date was set, a Friday night, restaurant picked, a nice Italian number. Expensive enough for it not to be full of gypsies, not expensive enough for me to be worrying about paying for the whole meal. I was good to go. Except for one minor detail. I was majorly nervous, like an African with an invite to the Amistad level of nerves. So I did what any sane rational Scotsman would do, I powered through about 6 double vodkas and two pints before the date to settle my nerves.

Nerves settled and probably a little bit overly relaxed I went to meet the girl, that’s when my mind went into over drive. My main concern was the initial meet, I’d never met this girl before. So how do I do this introduction on first arrival, do I shake her hand? Do I give her a hug? Maybe a kiss on the cheek? So many meeting options. We neared each other…she smiled, my mind raced. Handshake? Hug? Kiss? Shit! Handshake? Hug? Kiss?

Then it happened, we greeted, I was half pissed, and just sorta opted for all three, I stuck my hand out to shake her hand, leant in to kiss her cheek and the other hand went round to hug her. My body got all confused and she had no idea a human could move in this way which resulted in me slapping her tit with one hand and accidentally head butting her. I laughed, she looked confused and then I belched from the booze.

My date, after having recovered from a tit slap and a head butt within the first five minutes, then advised me she wasn’t drinking as she was on anti-depressants because of her ex. My response was to order a bottle of wine for myself.

Due to said bottle of wine I ended up completely smashed. At this point she then went to the bathroom halfway through the main course, and clearly legged it via the bathroom window as she never came back.

The waitress then came over and said “she gave me £20 and told me to leave you for twenty minutes, sorry she’s gone”.

My response was “ah don’t worry, she was a bitch any way, can I see the dessert menu”