Jason aka balding, high pitched, tiny man hands.
He was supposed to be a getting over the old flame who’s not good for you kind of guy. But he was literally the most boring scum of the earth fuck face loser jerk ever.
Ok big exaggeration but he HURT my pride.
To start with it was a million degrees (actually like 37’C) and that’s fucking hot in any language. And he wanted to meet at an outdoor rooftop bar, so even closer to the sun, which in my opinion probably means it’s hotter up there.
So I go to meet him & I’m still so hung up on the last guy that I’ve got this mantra running through my mind of ‘please let him be handsome and charming and me fall in love with him immediately so I forget about the last douche forever’. And I get to the bar and I’ve been walking in the blistering sun and I can feel a trickle of sweat running down my back & I’m thinking, please God let there be a fan aimed at my seat.
As I walk in I see him at a stool in full sun (zero fan in site) playing with a coaster on the table. And he’s different to his picture. He has very thin hair on top & grey patches in his beard. I can tell, even though he’s sitting down that he’s short. Like very short. And oh good Lord, the man is wearing cargo shorts, the kind with a million pockets. Who on earth needs that many pockets?!
He’d seen me. There’s no running away. And what kind of a bitch would run away. So I walk over and I sit & we’re all smiles and he’s friendly and I’m like, this could actually be fun. He seems like a decent human, so rare these days.
He had a bit of a weird high pitched voice and when he was holding his beer the tiny size of his weird mini little boy hands became seriously obvious. But he seemed friendly. He talked about his family…a lot. But that’s cool too, just maybe a bit less, or a lot less, but still fine.
And I sat there on my big arrogant high horse thinking, what am I going to say when he texts me asking for a second date? How am I going to let this poor tiny handed man down? I’m starting to feel awful, he clearly likes me…He’s nattering away about his work and his mum and his brother and the story about his Nanna.
So I finish my last sip of bubbly and he’s finished his beer and I put my glass down on the table thinking about what I’ m going to drink next, we’ve only been on this date for less than an hour & I can’t cut it that short, I don’t want to be rude.
And JASON old fuck knuckle that he is, says “we’ll cool, nice to have met you” and is off his stool, gives me a weird, I’m-too-short-to-hug-you-goodbye-from-your-stool, hug. And LEAVES.
He actually left ME sitting on a stool at a bar after an awkward half hug.
And then I had a huge spiralling moment, a mentally insane panic moment, if he doesn’t want me no one will!!! I’m going to end up alone. Everyone is looking at me! they all know! This is the worst!
If a weirdly sparse haired, small fisted creepo doesn’t want me?! I might actually literally die alone. Then it wasn’t just the heat making me sweat. I literally got short of breath. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.
So I gave myself a mental slap. After feeling totally humiliated I realised, I was a huge atrocious ego monster bitch. I thought I was better than him. I honestly sat there thinking that.
I bought a whole bottle of champagne and a friend came and met me on the roof & we drank it and ordered nachos while sweating. It was like Olympic Mexican food eating, against all odds, heat, sweat, drunkenness. We can still nacho.
And I decided that I needed a bitchiness overhaul.
What a horrible cunt I was and what a reality check he gave me.
I still don’t like that guy. How dare he leave me on a stool. But yeah. Lesson learned.