03 Dec 2017
He announced his arrival at the pub on Friday night by text: ‘look out for Father Christmas’. This was enough to make me run for the exit but unfortunately I bumped into him before I could make an excuse to escape. He was 6’2 and broad but without Santa’s tum. He had grey hair and a trimmed salt and pepper beard and sparkly eyes. In short, he was Hot Santa.
We went to a nearby pub. We had a good chat about food (Hot Santa was a burger man) and he had a few pints (I was on G & Ts). The evening looked up. But then things started to unravel. Hot Santa had previously been a sales director and had recently set up his own business. He had a really annoying habit of coaching me like he was a consultant. Then when we got onto a subject he clearly felt passionately about, he would launch into a ten-minute rant. At me. And I couldn’t really tell whether I had said something which meant the rant was directed at me. Or whether it was for my benefit. Either way, I couldn’t get a word in edgeways.
At some point we got dinner and I started drinking white wine. I’ll admit I was bored. So I sat there and drank while he talked at me. Then I decided to point out to him that I couldn’t get a word in edgeways. I couldn’t take it anymore. I felt I was being patronized.
This seemed to really piss him off and I vaguely remember him saying I’d end up alone with only cats for company.
So that went well then. And just to put the nail in the coffin we talked about politics too. And it won’t come as a surprise that we both traditionally voted for opposing parties.
Whilst this chat killed the date for me, Hot Santa seemed invigorated by this new opposition. And he soon became Frisky Santa. I was not up for sexy times with Frisky Santa and after fending off a few advances, left sharpish.
Good luck to him.
Instead I resolved to look forward to the various Christmas parties this month and promised myself to speak to someone new at every party.