don't call me a cougar

This is a true experience but not a TBW experience I hasten to add and the only disastrous experience of internet dating I have encountered

Quiet Saturday night, nothing on TV; so, Faithless CD, gin and tonic and laptop all in place I sign  into the internet dating site.   Soon after signing in I receive an e-mail, ‘What’s a gorgeous girl like you doing at home on Saturday night’.   The temptation is to reply ‘avoiding bumping into idiots who use dreadful chat up lines’  but, mellowed by gin and Faithless, and rather flattered to be referred to as a girl I reply that a night out with girlfriends was called off.   We continue chatting, I look at the profile pics; nice smile, smart suit, sunglasses.  Oh dear the clue was staring me in the face and I missed it.

Over the next week or so the chatting continues, on msn, on the dating site, on the phone.   More clues which I completely missed, oh how naive I was then.  During one conversation I ask the question  ’What do you do?’  ‘I’m a doctor, an anaesthetist’.  ‘Oh really, my mother in law is an anaesthetist’.  The fact that the conversation abruptly changes at this point still doesn’t ring alarm bells.   I  decline phone sex thinking if I really want to indulge in that I would have a premium rate telephone number,  sit watching East Enders with the sound turned down wearing my dressing gown and slippers while describing my basque and crotchless thong and make my fortune.  I do however agree to meeting for a drink.  But where?

I live in the sticks, he lives on the outskirts of London.   We settle on a date for the drink, which happens to be my birthday.  Thats  fine, at my age one tends to forget birthdays rather than flag them as a day to remember.   He may be on call so can’t travel too far afield so suggests we meet at South Mimms Services as there are some quite good pubs in that area, all within twenty minutes of the hospital where he works.   I agree to the suggestion and, dressed in my latest acquisition from Monsoon,  finishing off the outfit with killer heels I embark on the hour long drive to South Mimms.  As a destination for a romantic drink South Mimms Services is not high on my list, up until that point it has been nothing more than a stopping off  point for children desparate for the loo on long car journeys but I am not one to shy away from new experiences.

I arrive at the services which are teeming with weary travellers and find a space in the car park.   Receive a text, am in the cafe.  A quick  check in the vanity mirror reassures me that I look gorgeous so off I go.  As I walk towards the cafe my eyes flick from side to side watching everyone walking towards me.  I see what can only be described as a vertically challenged monkey walking towards me, eyes fixed on me.  He stops in front of me, my heart sinks and I wonder, in that instant, why I chose internet dating instead of joining a book club.  I realise why he wears sunglasses in his photo, but am curious as to how someone can have one eyebrow that stretches across their entire brow, almost obscuring their eyes.

His opening words ‘Hi wanna cup of tea’ almost stun me into silence.  No ‘Hi, it’s good to meet you’, ‘how was your journey’ or even, ‘you look nice’.  I stare down at him, glad to be wearing the heels to give me the upper hand and say ‘actually I would prefer a gin and tonic’.  He looks up at me, hand still in pockets, oh did I forget to mention his hands remain in  his pockets throughout the whole exchange?  and says, ‘well I want a cup of tea but if you don’t shall we just get a room’!   I stare down, giving him my best freezing stare and say ‘Actually I think this has all been a dreadful mistake, I’m just going to get back in my car and drive home’.  I turn round, walk back to my car and hear him say ‘Sorry I was a disappointment’.   Disappointment!  that has to be the understatement of the decade.   Back in the car I put in the miles between South Mimms and Suffolk as quickly as possible, never has Sunday night TV and gin seemed so attractive.

So precisely two hours five minutes after leaving the house, I am back home.  My son is surprised to see me but, taking one look at my face says, ‘oh dear date didn’t go well then’.   I don’t go into detail but just suggest to him that we go to Prezzo for a pizza.  He is more than happy to do that so I end my birthday, not as I expected, having a cosy drink in a country pub somewhere off the M25 but sitting eating a caesar salad and listening to my son telling me about his latest art project.  And I am more than happy to be doing that.

By Trish