I blame myself, I should have known. He cancelled on me twice before and after he begged and pleaded for a third time, I still gave him a chance. But I blame myself because all the signs were there. Firstly, he was late. And not like a couple of minutes late, more like an hour and a couple of minutes late. Then he called me and said that he was caught up in something and suggested that we just meet at the restaurant. And still, like a fool I went ahead with it. When I got there, he was seated at the table, talking to someone on the phone but then hastily put it down. Then rather confidently, he called for the waiter like he owned the restaurant and proceeded to order in that characteristically grandiose flamboyant manner, the most expensive dishes on the menu. Then the entire evening, he gave me a detailed account of how much money he has. He told me about his business, his car, his house and his flat in Durban. How do you respond to that? I’m happy for you, you big show-off? But the worst was yet to come. When it was time to pay, he said that he had forgotten his wallet at home. Flabbergasted and desperate to get out of there, I reached for my credit card because I didn’t have enough cash with me. To add insult to injury, he asked me for a R5 coin for the car guard, and said that he had a great time and couldn’t wait to do it again. I barred his number the next day.
Well I have to admit, I wasn’t entirely enthusiastic about a blind date but to please a long-time friend, I agreed. To say that the whole experience was tedious and boring is an understatement. It felt like I’d been thrown on the track at the Convo Olympics just to discover that I can’t run. From the moment we said our hellos, she wouldn’t stop yacking long enough for me to get a word in edge-wise. I got to know her entire family’s history in the 20 minutes it took for our order to come to the table. Then throughout the meal, she kept at it, talking non-stop. I had hoped that she’d at least shut it while she was eating. For a moment there, I zoned out automatically nodding my head, trying to be polite and faking my acknowledgment of what she was saying. Talk about pointless. I really didn’t need to know that her mother bought the green bag from Makro instead of the blue one and then found it cheaper at Game. Two days later, I heard that she complained to my friend that I was inattentive and unresponsive – that I was too quiet and wouldn’t talk to her. Seriously, this is why I’m still single. I didn’t sign up for this. Bitch.
I knew it was going to be a long afternoon after the first scratch. He was rude, inconsiderate and kept scratching at his balls the whole time. I don’t get it, aren’t guys conscious of their actions? It’s that false sense of authority and entitlement that puts me off most Indian guys. We get to the coffee shop smack in the middle of lunch hour right, so it stands to reason that the place is going to be packed *scratch*. He didn’t bother to make a reservation then he demands DEMANDS a table outside with a view *scratch*. He made such a scene and I was so embarrassed I wanted to curl up and die right there. Eventually, management had to tell him that there were no tables available outside on the terrace and led us to another table inside. For added effect, this warranted two scratches. I was like what the fuck is going on down there man. flea haven? Then sulking like a spoilt kid that didn’t get his way, he was unnecessarily rude to the waiter and every few minutes, in between scratches, he called on this poor waiter, asking some or other stupid question. I was irritated and frustrated, not to mention disgusted with the amount of ball scratching action going on and as a result, didn’t have much of an appetite. To him, this was the waiter’s fault too. Feeling guilty, I slipped said waiter an extra R50 on our way out as compensation for the abuse. That’s 3 painful hours of my life I’ll never get back.
I actually liked her. I really did. I just wish that she would tone it down with the make-up because she doesn’t need to plaster her walls you know what I mean. It’s like looking at a bad painting, and a couple of times I wanted to reach over and wipe off all that base or foundation or whatever you call it, with my serviette. And I wish she’d stop embarrassing herself in those sky high stilettos that she wobbles on. She clearly cannot walk on the bloody things and almost fell four times. But on the plus side, I got to catch her four times. It was a little romantic in a moronic kinda way.