The question I have been asked a lot in recent times is, “Dave, why are you single? You’re such a lovely guy.” It’s a process that I often contemplate when I am out on my long walks or runs. It’s an answer I am yet to find but like most single people today, it chews us out day and night.
The last girl I was lucky enough to date invited me over to cook her dinner. Long story short, she drank too much wine, passed out and didn’t even get to eat the scrumptious meal I cooked up. A few hours later she woke up and just wanted to have sex and try some submissive adventures which, was fun but the next morning (we’d been on a few dates) sent me a text saying it was all too much too soon and wished me luck. I’d left my French lavender oil, Japanese butter cream and a couple of bottles of unused wine there. Oh well, an expensive date gone awry.
Normally though, for a first date, I like to go for a cup of tea or drink of the stronger variety. Beer or wine is fine. I steer clear of crowded bars because you can’t hear half of what anyone says (or is that me getting old?) so I have a few safe options lined up. From the moment we sit down, it’s almost always enjoyable. We swap abbreviated life and travel stories, discuss bad dates, fun dates, personal details like families and previous wives/husbands (this is where about 40% of the woman I have dated confess they are still married or have a boyfriend but want NSA or discreet fun) as well as jobs and hobbies.
The time flies due to the fact we normally have good banter and I do like a chat which surprisingly shocks many woman as they often tell me other men they date just sit there and talk about, well, fuck all if anything to begin with. My love of live theatre, literature and picnics oftens brings an excited look (let’s face it, my competition (Aussie blokes) usually think literature is Penthouse magazine) and compliments that I am “different”, “unique” and “not like other guys” before they lead into their history of abusive relationships and unthoughtful ex partners who apparently didn’t give a shit. Why do you ladies put up with these utter bell ends? Is it the alpha male thing?
It’s here where I sometimes begin to get excited because you know, loads of woman are always saying there are no “nice guys” left. How do you define what make a nice guy though? Around this point however, things can take a decided turn for the worst. You see, like every good serial dater, we know how to sabotage things. For me, it’s my brutal honesty. When a girl asks me how I got to our destination, I usually tell her by bus, train or by foot. At this moment, the colour drains from her face (perhaps the realisation that I really am not like most Aussie guys finally sinks in) when I confess that I don’t drive. Never have. Never will. Personal lifestyle choice but a deal breaker for many woman looking for a boyfriend who can possibly be their taxi driver on a girls night out.
It’s funny how the driving thing always seems to find it’s way into the conversation. Maybe it’s the female intuition that picks up my inner vibe screaming “Please don’t ask me if I drive! Please don’t ask me if I drive! Pkease don’t ask me if I drive!”
As the end of the date encroaches, we talk about potential for a second meeting of minds. This is where it gets fun because you are both trying to clamber for the best option for date number two. Personally, I like to meet up for sushi or ice cream. It’s easy and provides enough simplicity to keep things comfortable. As we make our way into the street, this is where the inevitable “Where are you parked” question comes storming to the surface. Remember earlier when I mentioned the female intuition? Well, if it failed her earlier, it comes to the rescue here. Despite the often shocked gasps and looks of astonishment that arrive on their face about my inability to drive (this would not be an issue in Europe I tell you) we negotiate a second date and part company with a kiss and a hug. Oh, the married ones often ask you if you know a park, public toilet or even a hotel room to have that bit of fun I had thought we had already excluded from ever happening earlier during the date. Full matks for persistence though right? Remember though, the grass is only green where you water it the most!
This is where the fun starts. The next day I receive one of two following texts. First up is the one you just cannot help but embrace. It reads something like this. “Thanks for a great night. Looking forward to seeing you again.” The second text off the rank is one that haunts me on an all too regukar basis. You kind of what’s coming yeah? Ok, here it is. “Thanks for last night. I had a really good time and think you are a nice guy but, I didn’t feel a connection (it’s the fucking driving thing isn’t it? *jokes*) but hope we can be friends!”
Friends? Friends you say? Now, we all know the friends thing is probably not going to happen so why say it to begin with? Guys normally replace the word “friends” with “friends with benefits” which, if I am being honest, is a pretty shit thing to say anyone, let alone that “nice” girl they have just punted.
But girls, us decent lads know we are nice. No need to reinforce the fact you don’t fancy us in the looks department by telling us we are nice. It’s almost an insult to our intelligence and we’d rather you just speak the truth instead. And guys, girls also don’t want to be insulted with your request that you just be mates or potential fuck buddies either so grow a pair of big balls and don’t be a cunt!
This is a story all too familiar for too many of us suffering from these pherenial first world dramas. Perhaps the excessive options of internet dating are giving us too much to process? Or maybe we just put way too many expectations on what we are looking for in a potential partner? Either way, thousands of single Brusbane people will hit the bars, cafes and restaurants in the week ahead searching for Mr or Mrs fucking nailed it!
The struggle is real my friends, the struggle is real.