My Worst Date Ever Ever EVER

A few years ago I was living at my parent’s house in Massachusetts and feeling a tad lonely.  So, like the productive, go-getting gal I am I joined OkCupid (for the first time). Within minutes of finishing my profile I was shopping for boys with gay abandon, and found a pretty hipster who liked all the same sad things as me.  He had a handful of arty black and white pictures, a beard, and a really cute puppy. I was in internet love in seconds.

I pinged him a message, he replied, and soon we were messaging each other twee missives like there was no tomorrow, and arranged to meet up that weekend. Having never gone on an internet (dun dun dunnnn!) date before I told my parents that I was going, and a couple of friends, and crossed my heart that he wasn’t going to kill and eat me. If only he had, as I really think it would have topped off an evening of complete and utter doom.

We met on Boston Common and bought ice-creams to eat under the shade of a tree. The romance was killing me and I began to sweat. The boy pretended not to notice and asked me some innocuous question.  I was so nervous that I started babbling and could not stop. For an hour I talked complete and utter nonsense about trees, and kittens, glitter getting stuck in your hair, and cotton wool tasting bad, while he ate his Klondike and stared at me. Suddenly it was dark so he suggested we go to another part of town and get a drink. I shut up for a second to nod and we dashed off.

On the T we had sat awkwardly in the neon light and I had tried really discretely to tell if I was smelly due to my nervous sweating. It was hard to know. As we exited at street level, and walked over a busy flyover I noticed a 4 car pile up on the road below. Being giddy on adrenaline, and also a total blood junkie, I bellowed “Oh my GOD! We have to look!” and battled my way through the crowd to get a good peering spot. The boy listlessly followed me and frowned, “It’s really gross, and callous, to look.” He turned away and lit a cigarette. I realised we would never bond over a Jack The Ripper book, and turned away from the carnage. My dreams of twee kissing to a backdrop of blood and flames melted. I realised I was totally screwed in the head and he probably thought I was a psychopath. I wondered if I was a psychopath. We walked to the bar in silence.

As we arrived he held out an arm, “Wait, you do have your ID, right?”. Of course I didn’t, as in England once you look over 12 you’re fair game. With a sigh the boy told me to wait outside on a nearby smoker’s bench and he’d sort it out. I gave him $20 to make it a bit better. After he snuck the second drink out in his jacket pocket the bartender came over to tell us that we were not allowed back in. Ever. I suggested the boy escort me back to my train station and he agreed.

However once we got to North Station I realised that I’d missed the last train home and there was no way my parents would drive 2 hours to pick me up. I called them and said I would stay with a friend, and then looked at the boy. He sighed so long and so hard that I swear my hair ruffled. Then he looked at the floor, I looked at it too and wondered what it would be like to sleep on for the next nine hours. “I guess you can stay at mine.” He mumbled and we got back on the T wordlessly.

That night, while I attempted to sleep in all my stinky, sweaty clothes, I wondered if maybe his puppy would pee on me, or whether his fan would explode and cut my head open. I mean it had to get worse somehow, right? As I drifted off and rolled onto my side I felt something solid but soft next to my face. I opened my eyes slowly and saw that he had been noiselessly creating a wall of duvets and comforters for the last hour or so. It was higher than my head and stretched the full length of the bed. I looked at it hard in the dark and promised myself I would never ever EVER date anyone with only arty pictures on their dating profile again. Ever.

Photo by Laura Appleyard