The Twenty Minute Date

He was on time. He had texted me, a lot, I put this down to his nerves. I was calm. I had stipulated in my profile I wanted a man who felt comfortable in his own skin. He greeted me with wide open eyes. I took this to mean, he liked what he saw. 

We walked towards the old part of the city. He said he didn’t drink tea or coffee, nor did he understand my request. Going for an afternoon coffee was standard dating procedure. We walked to the Cathedral and sat on the wall. The Holy place towering above us. He had never been to this bit before. 

He was a southerner. He didn’t like me questioning him at all. This raised his discomfort levels. I can not remember exactly what came first, the pursed lips lunge for a junior school style kiss or the comment about my good set of knockers. Either way, this was a cringe worthy date fail.

Prior to this social code failure, he confessed his children didn’t speak to him and he was bored of travelling.

We walked back to the centre and went our different ways. I, to a coffee shop. He, to his car. Twenty minutes of dismal dating.


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