If your friends start reminding you about your romantic ventures: sister, you are a little off the rails!
I realised that when my friend asked when I’m gonna blog about my
little crush a. k. a. Mr London. Then I wondered whether I should stop taking chances with pretty much anyone and wait for someone very special to come along.. But this idea was soon buried under a pile of excuses: “It’s just dating!”, “You’ll never find someone if you won’t take chances!”, “Meeting new people is fun!”, “FREE FOOD/DRINK/MOVIE!!!” (even though it’s not always the rule in my case), etc…
Anyhow, when my friend reminded me that Mr Joint #1, wasn’t the first lovely experience that the land of fish and chips rewarded me with, I decided that I can’t leave you out of my fabulous date with … #0.* For the record, I’m referring to him like this, just for the chronological sake of the blog: I met him way earlier than I met #1.
He was way much more than a zero… I met him in one of London’s shopping places. Just casually wandering about, I walked past him and we exchanged smiles. To be honest, the man was sooooo handsome I seriously wondered whether he was smiling at me. But when I left the store and continued on wandering and not buying anything, cause lets be honest, I couldn’t afford even a pin in most of them stores, I saw HIM again.
He was on his phone, but as soon as he noticed me coming towards him with a massive grin on my face (FYI: I wasn’t walking towards him on purpose, he just stood next to a shop I was planning on going to; and as for the grin- I knew it didn’t look anything even close to attractive, but I’ve already mentioned my body’s hobby, to start acting creepy when there’s charming man around) he hung-up and smiled at me.
His chat up line, “Do I know you?”, wasn’t original at all, but it worked on me since he looked like someone I’d REALLY love to know. His question whether it’s possible that we’ve met in some casting, was an obvious brag about him being a model, but fair enough- even Brad Pitt would’ve looked as an old fart, next to him. Moreover it included pleasant (or ironic???) wonder if I am a model..
Ohh yeah, I am! Victoria’s Secret Angel, in fact! I’m just really down-to-earth that’s why I’m wearing 2-quid-worth shoes from Primark and carrying an old, trashed bag. And yes, it’s just a holiday overweight; when I’m working I do weight 40kilos.
We chatted, exchanged numbers and he asked me out after couple of days.
My glorious excitement was gone as soon as I realised that I’m not that kind of girl, that he’s looking for and another way around: I sat in his roofless Porsche and our casual conversation’s topics switched from weather to sex in less than two minutes. I seriously considered whether he’s gonna kick me out of his car, when I told him that I’m not gonna sleep with him tonight just cause he has perfect physique, expensive car, is model/DJ/car racer and in overall is, pretty much, perfect. But he didn’t and he also took me for a few drinks to the most posh place I’ve ever been to. Even though we didn’t see eye to eye, the date was really pleasant. Of course, most of the night we spent discussing why and why not you should sleep with random people after a first date, but we also talked about some decent things, which was quite hard, cause everything seemed to lead to the same topic: sex. Yes, we were salaciously flirty!
Anyhow, when the date was coming to an end, I was heavily crying inside – this man was truly perfect, but one reason: he was only after sex. One, maybe two or three times, if you’re really good at it, but not more, cause he’ll just get bored.
Now there’s just one fat wonder occurring to me: should I be thankful for, practically, the best date ever, with the most attractive man I’ve ever spoken to (I’m seriously not over exaggerating) or should I be upset, cause there’s one man less in the list of my potential Prince Charming??
* I referred to the hero of this blog as #0 just in order to avoid any confusion and having to rename all of my former dates, that I’ve already blogged about. I’m not being discriminating and I’m not trying to refer to any sort of cliches of zero. Any relations between Mr #0 characteristics and number zero’s stereotyped meanings are a pure coincidence. Amen!