Dear Bridget Jones,
I’ve been compiling a post of what it’s like to date in London, particularly on dating apps, but had to put that aside for now to share the most embarrassing date I’ve ever been on. Great guy, awful experience …
I set up a date with this guy via Bumble and for our first date, he suggested we go for drinks and dinner…
We met at Porterhouse, a great Irish pub and stood with our drinks on the top floor overlooking the bar from above. I started sweating profusely and wondered if it was just due to the hot air rising in the bar. I don’t get nervous about first dates, but to him, it probably looked like I was!
Our conversations continued and I learned we had a lot in common (career, writing, travel, comedy/improv, etc.). I was intrigued by what he had to say but was struggling to stand. In addition to my attractive sweatiness, I was feeling nauseous and on the verge of passing out. Since I was drinking slowly, and he was done his first drink, I suggested he get another. He went to the bar and I went up to a group of strangers and asked to sit at their table for a minute. Why the hell was I feeling sick?
Once he came back upstairs, I was able to stand again. This only lasted a while and then I had to ask him if we could find a spot to sit, blaming it on the small lunch I had. “We’ll get you some pizza when you finish your cider then,” he assured me as we sat.
I was back to feeling alright until we were seated at Franco Manca for dinner. He ordered us a bottle of red, and I felt myself getting nauseous again as he continued with a story. As soon as there was a silence, I excused myself to go to the toilet.
I closed the door, held up my hair, and leaned over the toilet hoping to clear my nausea, but instead my body felt it’d be more reasonable to paint the entire bathroom and myself in puke. Fuuuuccckkk.
Once the projectile stopped, I scrambled around trying to clean up the mess. I tried my best to clean my stockings, but was quite sure some may have gone down into my boots. Once cleaned to the best of my abilities, I washed my hands, popped some mints into my mouth, and literally slipped out of bathroom on vomit I missed cleaning up.
When I sat back down at the table, after being gone for who knows how long, I could still smell the vomit… praying he couldn’t. I placed my feet as far back from him as possible, assuming the smell was from what I slipped in on the way out. Could be the smell of the sourdough pizza crust, right?? I can only imagine what he thought I was up to in the bathroom, having been gone for so long.
It’s was then time to order food. I had earlier poked fun at picky eaters, saying “I hope you aren’t just a margherita guy.” But after what I went through, I needed to order the most plain pizza to avoid round two. So I ordered the dang margherita. To further this trend of me being all talk and no game, I was barely able to get through half, after saying how much I love pizza.
Our conversations were actually great. The amount we connected on was rare for a first date. Even taboo topics weren’t off limits, because we had similar views on them. But I couldn’t help but think how funny I must have looked listening to him while feeling super nauseous and sweaty.
We stayed at the restaurant until close and he kissed me on the cheek goodnight (thank God not the lips in this case) and said we should meet up again next week if I was keen.
Haven’t heard from him since.
I think he knew what went down… guess I’m not that discrete after all!
– Samantha xx