There are many defining moments in life.
Selecting which course to do at university. Selecting which course to have at dinner. Accepting one job offer over another. Accepting that fifth shot of tequila and ruining your life…
However, at the time, most of us don’t always realise the magnitude of our actions and the domino effect it will have on the rest of our life. Instead, we simply knock over that first plastic square without much thought and it isn’t until we look back, until we see how many other dominoes have fallen over that we realise the impact of our decision.
You may look back at the fallen dominoes and feel frustrated. You may be satisfied. You may be sad. But whatever you feel, all those feelings stem from that initial little plastic square; only you realise now that, while little, its impact was massive.
Therefore, as I clicked to match with this fella on Hinge with the hopes of upgrading from a dolphin show to a sea lion show, I had – without realising – knocked over the first domino. And while all I had wanted was a free dinner and perhaps a cheeky winch – Scottish for smooch – little did I know that my time perusing the pic ‘n’ mix sweet shop section was about to come to an abrupt end.
But more on that later.
For now, all that was my main concern was whether or not I could actually be bothered to go on the date – and this was on the morning of the date!
You see, we had spoken intermittently throughout the week but the content of the conversation was pretty beige. What do you do? Why did you move here? What’s Scotland like? I mean, I may as well have slapped on a suit any time we spoke with our chat being more reflective of an interview than of two people that could potentially see each other naked by the end of the night. And if you have had an interview that has ended up like that then please pass along my CV.
Not only was the conversation making my fanny go from wet to damp but I was also uncertain about his appearance. Both the selection of Hinge and Instagram pictures weren’t very clear, with one picture making him look like Henry Cavill but in the same breath the next one made him look like Peter Barlow off Coronation Street. I mean, how was that possible? And, on top of that, I was still speaking to dolphin show guy. So it wasn’t as if I was desperate for some male attention.
However, as the morning dragged on and I couldn’t decide whether using a broken down car – I didn’t have a car – or the beginning of a cough – praise be Covid – as my excuse to get out of the date, it turned out that my poor decision making skills once again made the decision for me. It was far too late in the day to cancel now. The poor guy had probably already selected his best beige top to match with his best beige shoes so I decided I had to go. It was a brunch date after all and I’m sure that a few rounds of drinks would loosen up his tongue and blur my vision enough so as he stayed as the Henry Cavill version of himself…I hoped!
With my decision made, the getting ready dating process began. Make up on, but not too much make up so as to give the impression of a natural beauty. Outfit selected with either boobs or legs on show and, as my chest resembles that of a five-year-old boy’s, I went with legs. And finally, hair styled. Or, more, clipped back from my face so as to not look like a creature from the lagoon, with the Dubai humidity sticking my hair to my face regularly from the inhumane amounts of sweat it caused my body to protrude (sexy, I know).
Anyway, with the transformation from drab to fab over, I booked my Careem just in the nick of time to allow myself to only be 30 minutes late…Giving Mr. Beige – who had arrived fifteen minutes early – plenty of time to find some personality at the bottom of a few bottles of Magners.
However, as I arrived at the venue with my expectations as small as the midgets from Miyagis – if you know, you know – I realised how wrong I had been. It turned out that Mr. Beige was in fact Mr. Buff with a face that didn’t require a personality. He was like one of Michelangelo’s sculptures and suddenly, the inhumane sweating started to begin, only this time it wasn’t because of the Dubai heat. In fact, I hoped he was like one of Michelangelo’s sculptures and was a mute with no personality as I was now on the back foot, wondering if I lived up to his expectations and more or, if I had remained as my Peter Barlow equivalent.
Quickly grabbing some napkins, I dabbed the sweat away from my upper lip and began to approach the former Mr. Beige, now Mr. Buff, with tentative steps as my thoughts turned to how I would greet him.
I wasn’t even sure whether I was allowed to embrace Mr. Buff in greeting or whether there was a sign near him saying ‘please do not touch.’ But, like the risk taker I am, I decided to go for the embrace – if only to hopefully shatter some of Mr. Buff to make it an even playing field again.
However, embrace him, I did and shatter, he did not but become more buff, he did.
Not only that, but the embrace was enough to make me wish I had done a few extra crunches at the gym plus a six-week workout plan before meeting him.
Clearly, there was only one solution to this dramatic turn of events: drinks, drinks and more drinks. He may have won this initial round of the date, but the next part would be mine.
You see, drinking is considered a Scottish national sport. Our ability to cope with obscene amounts of alcohol is worn as a badge of honour among many; a badge of honour which comes in the form of varying sizes of beer gut bellies. While I, luckily, didn’t have a beer gut belly, I knew I could do my country proud against Mr. Buff.
Therefore, as we sat down at the table and brunch commenced, I ordered a drink and two shots to commence the battle. One for him, one for me. Yet, the upper hand I had hoped to achieved from it was not gained as he knocked it back with the ease of a true Scotsman himself. Was there anything wrong with this individual?
And so, with shot after matched shot and drink after matched drink the brunch continued. We laughed, we flirted and we winched. And with each hour, minute and second of it that passed, so did that initial domino begin to wobble. Teetering back and forth as if it too felt the effects of each drink.
However, as the brunch came to an end and myself and Mr. Buff communicated dangerously with our eyes before leaving the venue, the domino no longer teetered but came crashing down. The only question was: how many more dominoes would come crashing down with it?
