14 Oct 2017
It seemed like a match made in heaven.
After matching on bumble and exchanging texts, he asked to talk on the phone. I explained that he hadn’t yet quite passed my usual basic assessment in order to get a date (no sex pests, weirdos, men who can’t spell or who use too many emojis). He understood the rules. He pointed out his spelling was amazing. I naturally assumed that he was going to make a joke about being a sex pest when he phoned. Lo and behold his voice was the most comically sexy voice you ever heard. As low as Barry White on twenty a day. I told him his sex pest voice was hilarious. He said he’s Glaswegian and that’s his actual voice. I died a little inside.
Thankfully he thought this was brilliantly funny and we ended up chatting for an hour about all kind of shit. Turns out he’s an ex-Mexican wrestler! (extra brownie points from me). We agreed to meet. When he showed up I was totally intrigued by his appearance. Like a cross between Brian Blessed and a young Jack Nicholson in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, he had the kind of expressive, beardy face that looks like it could be made up of a number of small furry animals, each trying to escape. He was also a veritable man mountain at six foot five.
It was soon clear he was a massive show off. Within five minutes he was showing me the perfect slut drop (it’s all in the wrists) and talking about how he was going to take me down at ping pong. We drank pints and then tequila, discussed Mexican wrestling moves and I showed him my infamous wrist lock learned from my days as a jujitsu instructor. We finished with an eyebrow war over the table – he won. (It’s like thumb war but about who has the best eyebrow moves). It was going very well.
He grabbed my arse at the end of the night when we kissed goodbye but I didn’t mind. He’d won me over with his eyebrows.
So it’s with a real sense of sadness that I tell you it didn’t work out. On our third date it was like all the energy and chemistry of the first date had just melted away. He showed up in yoga pants from that morning’s class. He fell asleep in the film. He stopped asking questions.
Its times like these I pick myself up, dust myself off and carry on. Because there’s no point dwelling on what might have been. And there are plenty more frogs out there willing to be shown a wrist lock.