She has decided to try internet dating, because she is sick, sore and sorry of meeting apparently nice men out and about, getting on fine with them, arranging a date with one, and then finding out that he's a complete gobshite as soon as she's stuck at a table with him, having just ordered three courses, with nothing to do but listen to him blather on about how difficult his job is, or how funny and wild he is.
Recently, she saw a nice man's profile on the net. He contacted her, she responded, all was well, very texty, for a while. He lived in the same town, seemed normal, was 32, two years older than her, and funny in his texts so she decided feck it, she'd meet him for a drink.
She's very attractive, this friend of mine. She's funny, intelligent, and has the sort of figure I personally would happily swap my house, my car, my two dogs and His Nibs for. What could go wrong?
He was late, the rude pig. On a blind date. What a git, leaving her sitting there like an eejit, in a well known hostelry, looking up every time the door opened. As any woman with an ounce of sense would, she phoned her sister.
"Ah sure, maybe he got stuck at work, give him a chance" she was advised.
"But he hasn't even texted to say where he is. That's not right, is it" my friend wondered.
"It probably just means he's almost there" her sister said.
She sat it out, warrior that she is.
As one man after the other arrived in and none approached her, she started to droop. Until the date arrived. She recognised him from his photograph, eventually.
At first she thought that maybe he'd been injured in some sort of accident, and had had the presence of mind to send his father to tell her.
As he stood there, obviously looking for her, she realised that this was a highly unlikely scenario. The dishonest fecker had used a photograph that was at least twenty years old.
She picked up her bag and left, as you do.
As she made her way down the street she phoned her housemate to tell her how she was getting on.
"Keep running" her friend told her. "You can't go out with a man who's too much of a liar to admit his age, or so stupid he thinks that you won't notice."
No sooner had she hung up on that call, than her sister rang up to see if the date had turned up yet.
Once again the sister, who I suspect might be in a very long relationship like myself, and a bit eager to be in the dating game, if only through someone else (again, like myself), told her to give the man a chance, and go back.
Believe it or not, my optimistic friend was persuaded to go back.
But when she got into the pub, her fury at his dishonesty overtook her.
She marched straight up to him and asked him his name. Having confirmed that he was, indeed, her date, she asked him his age.
"That's a big lie. Even if you've had more plastic surgery than Jordan, I don’t believe you’re 32."
She said all this at the top of her voice. Not only beautiful and intelligent, but feisty. A deadly combination.
"OK" he admitted "I'm 35".
"God" she told him "you must have had a rough life. If you've been moisturising all your life and never been out in the sun I'll accept that you're forty five. Show me your driving licence, or I'm leaving right now."
He was gone fifty. She left. She was so offended that he thought she'd believe his nonsense that she wouldn't have had a drink with him for anything.
The following week, when she went back to the same pub to meet a friend, the barman told her that they’d been taking bets behind the bar. Giving him a slap had been even money, and it was ten to one that she’d end up snogging him in the pub.
I have another young friend, whose blind date ranted on so much about his stress and anxiety and temper and the awful day he'd had at work, that she asked him if he wanted to continue with the date at all.
"I’m fine, I took a load of my tablets" he informed her. "They always calm me down."
Definitely too much information on a first date. He put the heart across her. There was no second date.
Both of these ladies are thinking of giving up on the whole caper. They're coming to the conclusion that if they don't fall over their soulmates as they meander down the rocky path of life, sure what harm? Worse things happen.
I don't know though. It all sounds sort of exciting to me. But then I haven't been on a proper date for almost twenty years. If I ever found myself single again (and I might, if the fecking Christmas tree doesn't find its way out of the attic soon) I think I'm so nosy that I'd go on any date I got just to see what they were like.
And writing my profile for the website would be the best fun ever, I'd imagine. It's the only place I'd ever be able to lie so much I can refer to myself as athletic. Yes, I know "cuddly" is the accepted euphemism for fat, but if I'm going to lie I'm going to do it in style.
I suppose I'd get fed up of it though. Just having to put on makeup and wear heels all the time would probably render me so miserable I'd be banging down the door of the local convent in a week.
Come back Cilla Black. We need you.
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