Day 4 of #Blogtober17 with HexMum has the prompt ‘Date’ so I chose this post as it has the story of our first date.
My Mum and I went to a restaurant today. I use the term ‘went’ loosely because by ‘went’ i mean we attended said establishment however after we were shown to our table in a corner in the busiest, noisiest place I have ever set foot in and my Mum had to wait to sit down because the girl at the table 6 inches away from us decided to take her time removing her coat with elbows all over the shop like a dancing toddler, my Mum started doing her signature ‘getting her hair off face’. Not a good start. We picked up a menu and shouted “what do you fancy” like literally shouted. She looked at me. I looked at her. “This isn’t for us is it?” I said. “Not quite what I was expecting no” she said. “Shall we naff off then?” I said. The relief literally jumped out of her and did a jig. Only we had to get out of there.
Now a few years ago I would have run out, phone clamped to my ear shouting “what do you mean she’s vomiting so much it’s like a Nanny Plum jelly flood? I’ll be right there” grimace at the dude on the door and run.
Not this time however. I am finally one of them there adults. I didn’t rush. I didn’t lie. I looked him straight in the eye and said “mate it’s too busy in here and the noise is doing my head in.” And left. He just looked on flabberghasted. Did I feel bad? Nope. It wasn’t like we were the only people in a bar full of tumbleweed, they were busy. Did I feel all smug that I’d done it rather than being all British and smiling and telling them how great it was despite dying slightly inside? Too bloody right. This of course wasn’t their fault. They want the place to be busy that’s the whole point, this was my personal opinion.
It reminds me of the time back when I met my partner. He painted my house, a mutual friend of ours that worked with him kept telling me how “his butty was single” (if you’re not Welsh I’m NOT talking about his sandwich here) and how I should go out with him. I sniggered but eventually handed over my number. Which I found out years later he’d promptly chucked in the bin thinking his mate was joking.
We did eventually go on a date though to a local pub. It was lovely. For our 2nd date I got to choose where we went and I picked a local hotel that had a nice restaurant. I got dressed up and we went. Only the look on his face said it all as the guy at the door looked him up and down took my coat.
“This is a bit f**king fancy isn’t it?” he said as he eyed up the cutlery set up on the table. The tinkly piano music in the background. My brain started screaming ‘Oh God, I HAVE MADE A HUGE MISTAKE’.
‘How can I get out of this?’I started panicking. He hates it. It’s too posh. The b**tard is common as muck. Egg on his chips kind of guy. What the hell was I thinking?
“Right lets go” spills out of my mouth without meaning to. He nods. We get up. Half walk, half run to the door. I grab my coat. We shout “sorry gotta go” over our shoulders and leg it to the car.
Then drove to a Harvester instead. And we laughed and laughed. That’s how we knew we were meant to be.