Everybody loves a good romantic fairy-tale ending. Without the lovey-dovey finale, when the boy gets the girl, they share a passionate kiss and all is put right with the world, life would be pretty depressing. Take Pretty Woman for example, imagine the horror an alternate ending whereby Richard Gere turned to the exquisite Julia Roberts and exclaimed "Sorry you're just a skanky hooker, I'll drop you off on the corner." Or in Bridget Jones if the delightful Colin Firth actually decided he wasn't interested in the huge-pants wearing eccentric that was our Renee. It just wouldn't make good viewing. And as for real life, the all time classic question for anyone in a relationship just has to be "How did you meet?" Now there is nothing like a sickeningly sweet tale of how two star-crossed lovers came to be. Those first long, lingering looks across the dance floor / office / classroom etc. And first dates are usually a good topic, although often filled with a collection of cringeworthy horror and awkward conversations.
Now I am currently in a long-term relationship with my boyfriend, Josh. And our story is unusually mellow. We were friends first, in Scarborough where we both live. Then I moved back to North Wales to complete my third year of uni, and he moved back to Birmingham for the same reason. Then we realised, actually, we quite missed each other, and quite would like to see each other a little more. And gradually our friendship blossomed into an amazing relationship. Of course, I usually omit the part about how seven years previously whilst we were both in secondary school we had a... well let's just say 'relationship'. Basically, Josh got his friend to ask me out, and I got my friend to tell his friend to tell him yes. Even though, admittedly I wasn't entirely sure who he was at this point. I was still very much 'the new girl', and only knew about five people so far. So lo and behold we were boyfriend and girlfriend. For about a week. During this brief affair, we went to the cinema twice - during one of the times Josh actually brought his best friend along, so the three of us sat on the back row watching some dreadful film
they had chosen, before telling me they were going home to play 'Dungeons or Drgaons' or something equally un-girl friendly. Then, one day in the canteen at break time, Josh sent over a horrid chav-like girl to dump me for him - I think they might have even dated for a little while. And I was less than heartbroken, just upset because this meant I probably wouldn't be receiving a Christmas present from him. So that was fairly disastrous, and thank God it ended there, giving us several years to 'grow up' and appreciate each other more.
However, prior to our wonderful relationship, things didn't always run so smoothly. For the months, years even, leading up to us meeting, I had my fair share of horrifying bad romances. Many-a-date I had which was followed by me arriving home, falling to the sofa, only to recall my tales of terror to my ever-bemused housemates. I was a dating disaster.
I guess it all started in the first year of uni, not long after I had broken up with my first boyfriend, who I had dated devotedly for four years, from being just fifteen years old. By the time we broke up, I was nineteen, old-fashioned, and clueless about the dating world. So one night out, I met a relatively cute guy, and agreed to go on a date with him the following day. Of course, during our meet-cure, I was quite intoxicated, and so full of confidence and cool. Come the next morning, I was a shaking, sweating mess. I had no idea. No idea what to wear, what to say, what to act like. Should I wash my hair? Should I, true Josh-fashion, take a friend along just in case it was boring? Would we hold hands? What if in the harsh sobriety of day he was in fact a shrew boy? (Shrew boy being our name for boys who appeared good looking whilst your old alcohol levels were topped up, but then look decidedly rodent like in the cold light of day). I was scared. So when Sam rocked up to my halls the next morning looking drop dead gorgeous, I quivered with fear, and rolled myself under the bed for hibernation. This was all too much for me. Fortunately, my friends coaxed me out with promises of Chinese take-away if I managed to get through at least an hour of the date. I had resigned myself to failure already, but why not give it a go anyway?
Sadly, the first thing I managed to splutter out was "I've never been on a date before. Am I wearing the right shoes?" At that point, I wouldn't have been surprised at all if Sam turned on his heel and rapidly left in the opposite direction. Luckily, he found it cute. (Honestly, he did!) He too had just got out of a long-term relationship, and was quite new to the whole dating game. Obviously not as new and ridiculous as myself, but still!
So our date took us to the pier, classic first date territory. Things were running smoothly, we had chatted idly and got to know one another a little. Then we arrived at the ice-cream hut, and to my horror I realised I hadn't brought any money. Was I supposed to pay on the first date? Was he? Should I pretend to be on a diet to avoid any embarrassment? "Which ice-cream would you like?" Sam asked, not giving any clues away about who would be paying for what. Oh dear God what did I do? "I don't have any money!" I shouted, raising the attention to several passer byers who possibly thought I was being mugged. After what seemed like infinity, Sam chuckled and said he would be paying. Ok, so that wasn't so bad. Until.... The Incident. Returning from the ice cream hut, 99 cone in hand, I spotted a vacant bench, and started toward it with haste. At the same time as another couple had. Damn them probably on their first date, looking smugly loved up and happy. There was no way they were getting this bench. So I set out with some pace, the bench being the goal, desperately trying to get there before they did. They were on target to win, until the last minute when I set out into a little sprint and practically dived onto the bench, knocking into the girl slightly so she nearly dropped her cone, and sprawled out across the bench feeling pleased for myself. Then I noticed the horror on Sam's face. Slowly, I turned to the couple, who appeared to have been slightly older than I originally believed. Yes, a lot older actually. In fact, I would say they were pensioners. I had managed to steal a seat from old people, one of whom now appeared to be leaning heavily on a walking stick. Sadly, they bowed their heads and headed off elsewhere. Needless to say, after my sinister old-people hating performance, Sam didn't ask for a second date. But compared to following dates throughout the next few years, that one was grade A romance.
I have dated boys with bad breath, boys who collected sea-monkeys, boys who had hands covered in scales, boys who wore more make up than me, and even boys who were so unsightly or unappealing that my friends gave me affectionate nicknames. A few spring to mind, like good old 'Nob Jockey Dave'. And 'The Bug'. Never did I date a guy nicknamed 'Mr Hottie' or 'Absolute Sex God' I am afraid.
Anyway, of all the terrible dates I experienced, one ultimate classic horror story springs to mind. Anyone who has read my first blog Day of the Dogs, will have developed some idea of how beastly and troublesome my dogs are. And on this particular date, they really excelled themselves.
The boy in question; Kyle. Handsome personal fitness trainer who actually asked me out, despite being witness to my dancing the night before whereby I resembled an epileptic octopus. Now, before I begin, I should point out that is was in fact his idea to go on a dog-walk date. With, of course, my beastly dogs. And of course, in his tiny little Micra. So from the beginning I should have known it would end badly.
He picked me up from my house around lunchtime, to go to the forest. The car being tiny, Rosie had to sit practically on my knee, and Saphy had free range of the back seat. Not the safest option for us or the dogs, but it would have to do. So we set off driving out of town, through the beautiful Yorkshire countryside, and towards the forest. We were getting on great, and I had noticed just how hot he actually was. And so very cool! Like, don't need to try cool. And me being the ultimate lame-o, I was desperate to make a good impression. It was about halfway there when Saphy, the black lab, started getting excited. And not long before she was literally running back and forth across the back seat and panting. This triggered off Rosie's excitement, who began to howl in a hauntingly hight pitched way. They had gone mad. I tried to quieten them down, and aside from somehow sedating them, there was nothing I could do. A short while later, I noticed Saphy had gone quiet in the back, but before I could turn to check what she was up to, she launched herself towards the front windscreen. Yes, she actually flew through the air like a truly insane canine, front legs extended forward Superman style, and crashed into the window, knocking the car out of gear with her back legs, and falling backwards landing on top of Kyle. This sudden unexpected chaos shocked us both, and , well, nearly killed us, as Kyle grappled with the steering wheel and contended with Saphy's flailing legs to stay in control of the car. Managing to pull over, I shoved Saphy off Kyle and into the footwell. I was just about to say something, who knows what, to try and apply coolness to the situation when.....it happened. I smelled something. Something bad. Frozen in fear and horror of what I was about to find, I held my breath. Kyle, who was still shaking off all the fur from his pristine jumper, slowly stopped and looked up at me. Finally, I dared to look. Turning to look to the back seat, I prayed it wouldn't be what I thought. Then I saw it. It was, without a doubt, the biggest, most soggy, steaming, hugest pile of fluorescent green dog poo I had ever seen. Right on the back seat.
"The dog has shit in my car hasn't it?" Kyle whispered, not daring to look for himself. Oh. My. God. What should I do? Right, into action. "It's ok, I have poo-bags!" I offered, herding the wicked beasts out of the car so I could assess the damage. It really did stink. Four poo bags later, it was still dripping from the seat, and really starting to seep into the upholstery. I knew I should have bought some more poo-bags before this outing.
"I hope you have some more of them, it's everywhere. My car stinks, I have to pick up a client in it tomorrow." Oh crap. "Actually.... no. I have run out, ha-ha! How funny! Oh well, deary me, surely you have some tissues lying around?" At this, Kyle looked unimpressed. After several minutes rummaging around the car, he came across a shirt in the boot "This'll have to do," he snarled, chucking me the rather nice expensive looking shirt. So I set about using his shirt to wipe up the remaining green liquid-poo, whilst Kyle tried desperately to cover up the scent by spraying deodorant and rubbing flowers on the dashboard. Without using my head, I began to put the shirt into a plastic bag, so Kyle (or more likely me) could take it home and wash it.
"ARGHHH!!!" I heard before I was rugby tackled to the floor. "Get rid of that!" He screamed, throwing the now defunct shirt as far from the car as possible.
"I was going to wash it...." I whimpered, rubbing my bruised elbow, and nursing my bruised ego. Expectedly, the rest of the date was filled with uncomfortable silence, as we both tried hard to pretend the smell wasn't there.
When I got home, I curled up on the sofa, cursing the dogs, and vowing never to go on another date again. Naturally, my mother and friends found the whole event a classic comical story, which they had to tell everyone in the world.
Luckily for me, my boyfriend Josh is a dog lover, and finds their horrifying antics sweet.
So be warned, taking dogs on a first date should NEVER be done. It is a terrible idea, and can lead to near-death, extreme embarrassment, and pitiful looks from your friends. To this day, Rosie and Saphy live on, bringing me hell and harassment on a daily basis. But, I wouldn't change them for the world.
