A Bowl of Mixed Olives and a Vodka Tonic

So what do you do when you go on a date with someone, and you're not sure if it really is a date?  How do you know whether someone is actually into you, as opposed to someone who actually quite likes you/your company, and thinks drinks/dinner might be nice?

This happened to me last night. 

About a year ago (when I was still with MB) an old friend (well, acquintance is probably more apt) made a reappearance into my life.  I'll call him Mr 29.  It was a "one night only" kind of thing, and although I stayed over at his hotel with him (once again, I'd missed the train and his hotel was just 5 mins from my work - made total sense at the time) of course nothing happened as we were both in other relationships.  We had spent a good part of the night dancing, laughing, drinking etc, and the rest of the night talking about our respective lives and how his wife didn't understand him and how dissatisfied I was with my relationship with MB but didn't know if, when or how to end it.  We ended the night with a lingering look and a promise to keep in touch.

Anyway.  Fast forward to next day, I feel entirely guilty, despite not having done anything to warrant that awful, sick, gut wrenching feeling and I put him out of my mind.   We exchanged a few non-descript texts, and that was that.

Over the coming months he made a few attempts to sort out a date when we could get together, and depending on just how things were with MB at the time I either said yes and then subsequently cancelled, or I said no and regretted it.  Either way, other than one long lunch and a few occasions where we've met up in the company of others, nothing further came of it.

Until last night.

A few months ago he started texting again, this time joking that he wouldn't take no for an answer.  I pointed out that whilst I was now single, I don't date married men (as I believe I've made pretty clear already!).  Turns out that he and his wife have been separated for a year.  As a free agent, I therefore decided to take him up on it and we met for drinks last night. 

He was extremely good company:  amusing, witty, bright.  He was interested in me and mine, and forthcoming about his own life.  He complimented my shoes.  So far so good.  

When it was time to leave, he kissed me chastely on the cheek and gave the usual "we must do this again sometime".  He did go slightly further in suggesting that as he is (in his words) a reasonable cook, he would like to make dinner for me one evening.   However, I can't shake the feeling that this may have simply been old friends catching up.  Whilst that in itself is fine, I don't really want or need anymore friends (with or without benefits), and I don't like ambiguity.  I'm certainly in no rush to jump in and have the whole "where do you see this relationship going" conversation after just a few hours, a bowl of mixed olives and a vodka tonic, but equally, a control freak such as moi does like to know which way is up. 

So here is how my little head is currently processing things:

He loves me                                                                        

Has been pursuing me (on and off) for a year, even though I've been flaky
Tactile - lots of arm and knee touching
He'd read my profile on my firm's website (and complimented me on the truly hideous pic)
As he kissed me good night he took my hand and held it longer than necessary
Offered to cook for me
Complimented my outfit
Sent sweet text at bedtime

He loves me not

Hadn't told me he was separated
There have been weeks, if not months, between communications
No fixed date to meet again

So you see, dear readers, why I'm confused.

In the meantime, the other two dates I had lined up for this week have been kicked to the curb for the moment - the first because our diaries were proving just to difficult to pair up and the other as I had forgotten I'd double booked myself.  We're now planning to get together next week for an evening of "outdoor adventure".   The mind boggles.  Mr 29 had better show his hand soon, methinks...

His "Randy Rampage"

Its true:  men are just like buses (and blog entries).  You wait ages for one and then the two arrive at once...

As you will be now have gathered, you poor long suffering bunch, I have spent a considerable amount of time lamenting the lack of quality males over the age of 40 who remain in possession of their own hair, teeth and mental faculties (feel free to switch "lamenting" with "whinging about").  However I now have not one but two dates lined up for next week, both of which have at least a small degree of potential.

The first is someone I've known for a few years but for various reasons (the main one being that he was married) we've never been romantically involved.  Sure, there was the occassional bit of flirty banter, and there was always an underlying "what if?" but nothing more.  Then, when he got divorced early last year (after 15 years of marriage) he went on what I can only describe as his "randy rampage".   He dated anyone and everyone (except me, as I was stupidly being faithful to MB) and he appeared to be having the time of his life.  He was out every night of the week with various pretty (albeit vacuous) girls, and was the talk (and envy) of our peer group.  However, after a year of sleeping with more women than Ken Barlow he finally decided that what he needs in his life is a good woman... and the long and the short of it is, it's the first time since I've known him that we're both single at the same time, and so why the devil shouldn't I dust off my best Jimmy Choos and go explore?

Date number two is a totally different kettle of fish. On the face of it, he's a serious, bookish type but get to know him and there is definitely more to him than meets the eye... in fact I suspect there's a proper little racer hiding inside.  And I'm looking forward to finding out if I'm right or not.

I think I'm quite looking forward to next week...

A Receptacle For His Manly Seed

There are lots of things about being single that I really like:  the anticipation derived from getting ready to go out on a first date; the not having to shave my legs daily;  the freedom to come and go as I like with no one to answer to (save for having to text babygirl so she knows mummy is safe and not dead in a ditch, or at least not dead drunk in a ditch); and most of all not having to pretend that "it's fine darling, you can watch the football ALL EVENING - I was only going to read anyway".  

Conversely, there are also things that I'm not so keen on:  the waking up in bed after a bad dream (or a good one - whoop whoop!) and there is no one there to cuddle up to; the lack of an instant companion for spontaneous weekends away; the shortage of sex.  Well shortage of good sex that doesn't make you feel like a tramp anyway.

Worst of all however is that your friends will usually now wonder what to do with their dinner party invitation that would normally go to you and your plus one.  Is it OK to invite you now you're single - a lone diner? Or should they find another sad old singleton and hope that the fact that the only thing you have in common is that you are both so unloveable you are destined to die alone means you must surely get along.   Because what else do they think I have in common with Terrence, the 58 year old, balding farter with the bad hair piece and halitosis that would have Pepé Le Pew running for cover?  Perhaps you'd best not answer that.

So what of the blind date?  Good thing or bad?  I would imagine there have been times in your life (as there have been in mine) when you've had a single friend, and perhaps your husband (or wife) has also had a single friend, and the two of you decide over your late night cup of Horlicks that Terrence and Ellesbelles would be just perfect for each other!  Well, I'm not against that in theory, but, as a single girl not massively keen on being set up with the office groper or, worse, the office virgin, before clinking your mugs together in what you now think is a Eureka moment, please bear the following in mind.

1.  Single does not (necessarily) mean desperate.  Yet.  Give it time.

2.  If single friend is in her 40s and has grown up kids and has clearly stated "no more children EVER" then setting her up with a 32 year old just holding out for a receptacle for his manly seed is a recipe for disaster, no matter how utterly gorgeous, fit and sexy he may be.  Even if said 40 year old might think its a great idea at the time.  Just say no.

3. The chances are, if your single friend is a Sandra Dee wannabe, she might not automatically love the burping, beer swilling, thrash metal rocker she now finds at her table.   But don't rule it out, she might love it.

4. Generally, your 5'3 single friends will probably like their men to be taller than they are.  Particularly if they have a weakness for Louboutins et al.  For my own part, I'm not hugely tall, and so if I go out out with a short arse fella I become terribly maternal and the temptation to grab his hand before crossing the street,  or worse still pull a tissue from my purse, spit on it and wipe his face becomes overwhelming.

5.  Find out whether both parties have a full complement of limbs ahead of first date (see earlier post "Get me some jiggy jiggy" for detail).  And whether either of them make any weird Elvis noises in bed (unless they're an official Elvis impersonator, in which case that's probably fine - again referenced in earlier post).   In fact, best find out what weird shit they might get up to in the bedroom before setting them up at all - you don't want their incompatible hairy knock knock to bring about the end of your beautiful, hitherto enduring friendship.

So you see, my well meaning friends - you have your work cut out.  Cupid's job is not as easy as it looks, is it?

A Cracking Little Sex God

Well, I’m back from my lovely (albeit at times rather saucy) week away with the girls, rested and raring to go.  And given that I have new found energy and a fabulous tan, I’m hopping back on the dating train since I’d let that slide a bit whilst getting ready for my jollies and getting over JC.

So let me update you.

JC is no more.  The “complications” were always going to be hard for me to handle and try as I might, I could never quite shake off the thought of his wife and kids back home. 

I feel I now owe a short explanation, given my “no married men rule”. 

JC was (is) married.  However, things had been on and off between them for a couple of years, and they were separated.  (No, really, they were!). I’m told that after their second child was born he’d moved out and she had a new chap in her life.  However, at the end of last summer they had reconciled and he moved back home.  It didn’t work out and they decided to get divorced.  However, shortly after this reconciliation, wife discovers she is pregnant...  with JC’s baby. 

When I met him, he was upfront about the marriage and kids one and two, but made no mention of impending baby three.   Now for me, a not yet ex-wife and two small kids is hard enough to get my head round, but as he really is a cracking little sex god with a body to die for I thought I'd give it a go.  And given that he was really, really into me too (which was refreshing after MB’s casual indifference and his propensity to keep his eye out for a better offer), it would be OK, right?  It therefore came as a mighty shock to learn of a further, hitherto previously undisclosed baby to be, and even after his plausible (albeit tardy) explanation I was still reeling.  Somehow, however, he convinced me (or maybe I convinced myself) that it would be OK, it didn’t matter, things will sort themselves out, etc etc.   

Clearly I am a master of self-persuasion and have no grip whatsoever on self-preservation.

Having heard him out (over a bottle or three of red wine) he agreed to let me have some time and space to think it through and wait and see what happened when said baby arrived.  My fear was that he would change his mind when faced with a third bundle of joy, his fear was that I wouldn’t hang around to find out.   Seems he was right.  Because when I learned of the baby being born I freeeeeeeaked out.  Not sure quite why I felt shocked – it’s not like I thought she’d be giving birth to a Renault Megane or something, but for some reason it now feels real in a way it didn't before.  I also feel mighty guilty that whilst she was (unbeknownst to us) in labour  he’d called me and we'd spent hours on the phone and the conversation had become, at times, a little fruity (again, blame the wine).   So in the space of a few hours, I had gone from feeling like a sultry temptress to a slutty father stealer and I just couldn’t do it.  So I did what any mature, self-respecting woman would do:  I made like an ostrich.  I ignored the message, and to this day I can’t quite bring myself to make the call.  I do feel a little guilty that I have not acknowledged the birth (don’t even know whether it’s a pink one or a blue one) but what I do know is that I can’t be part of that particular set up.

So it’s back to the drawing board now.  I’ve had a wonderful holiday and time to think.  Since coming back I’m hitting the gym with gusto, I’m eating healthily, I’m going to bed at decent times and have refrained from my usual evening glass or more of wine (yes, I know I’ve been back less than 48 hours but it’s a start!).

I’m going to unblock my dating profile now and see what’s out there.  I very much doubt I'll find the future Mrs EB online, but hopefully I'll have some fun, perhaps I'll make some mistakes, but either way I’ll keep you posted.

EB xx