I mentioned to a work colleague earlier today that I was seeing a young lady this evening and as internet dates sometimes tend, it didn't go quite as well as I had anticipated. Blind dates are something that I have done before and to a degree, I find they are notorious for adding to the stress of an already stressful event. Having only seen a picture of the lady that I'm going to meet I knew it was going to be worth it whatever happened. I was hoping for the nerve-racking end of the blind-date spectrum rather than the unbearable/semi-suicidal that I've hit a couple of times I arrived, looked around the pub, I couldn't see her. I thought I may have a couple of minutes to compose myself and then try as hard as I could to look sincere, intelligent and sophisticated. The last of the preening, clearing my mind as if I'd been preparing my mind and body all day rather than for the last ten minutes as I walked down Broad St.
I wandered around the pub looking for her, Lillian, as I thought about the picture that she had on her profile on the dating site. It wasn't too difficult to spot her, she was a Central American, Honduran to be precise, and had the most enigmatic face. The high cheek bones, the rather prominent but yet graceful forehead, the dainty nose, the sensual lips a pretty little chin and a pair of knockers to die for. She was sat, in the Brasshouse, away from the crowd at a table with a bottle of wine and two glasses, one empty awaiting my arrival. I walked over and tried to calmly introduce myself and she went to shake hands as I leant forward to kiss her on the cheek, with her taking my hand asking me to kiss her on alternate cheeks in the manner that those of Spanish influenced culture seem to be so good at being forthright and yet extremely considerate at doing.
We talked for the next hour like wild horses galloping alongside and around each other on a grassy plain at sunset. She didn't really stop talking - it was all so sincere, so open and so honest about what sort of person she was and who she was looking for. I tried to explain life in the UK as I saw it and how much things had changed over the last thirty years and that now narrowly defined gender roles are not what most men in the UK expect to fall into with many women. Feminism has even reached Wolverhampton, where she's living and working. I didn't really get the feeling that I fitted the bill, nor that she was interested in the life of a man who tries to sell hearing aids over the phone to people who have no idea what he is talking about half of the time. There seemed to be something missing - something that I couldn't really do much about.
It wasn't until after I'd texted her that I realised what I did wrong. On the way there waiting at a junction I sent her a text which was aimed at being some form of icebreaker. I'd always thought that it was funny when you turn up to date and the picture that someone puts on a site doesn't indicate that they're a dwarf, have one leg longer than the other and perhaps. So I sent her a text telling her 'oh, by the way, did I tell you that I have a wooden leg?' and I didn't think as she seemed to send a joke reply, that she'd believed this and been too embarrassed to ask me if it was true. Ho hum - talk about spoiling a good evening without even trying....! I'm possibly going to see her again - other texts messages she sent me afterwards were a little more encouraging - by the way, if anyone wants to learn Spanish I'm sure she'd be a very good teacher.
I've always thought soul searching was something that I've done too of - maybe I should just crack fewer wooden leg jokes....it was like an urban myth materialising in front of my eyes - should I write urban myths or Mills and Boon, tough one that.
I hope you find it in everything that you seek, thanks Howard.
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