Sometimes things seem like they are going ok until someone opens their mouth. With this, I am referring to the guy mentioned in my post of 23rd June. The one who wouldn't tell me about his job. As it turns out..for good reason.
He was from Essex and said he would come over to see me. I met him in a local pub. I pulled into the carpark and he was there. Flip flops, jeans. He looked quite nice, relaxed. He said 'hello'. Hold on...that didn't sound like an Essex accent to me and I should know, I am the definition of Essex.
It transpired that he actually comes from Barnsley and was living in Essex temporarily. I wish I could say I was pleasantly surprised, but to be frank, I thought he sounded like a farmer. I didn't realise that an accent could be so off putting. Shallow? I'm guilty, don't shoot me.
His 'job' was that he didn't actually have a job. You can imagine my face. He told me he was 'in between jobs'. Make of that what you will.
We went to dinner. He sat and bored me with talk of his sister's new baby, showing me photos on his phone. Oh dear! He sounded quite broody. It was at that point I started looking for the nearest exit. I decided to tell him about my job, to which he seemed quite interested. He stopped me mid flow..'is it ok if I go to the toilet?'. He actually asked me if he could go to the toilet. Who does that? School children? I'm surprised he never raised his hand to ask. What would he have done if I had said 'no'? I told him to 'go for it'.
While he was away from the table, I polished off the remainder of the prawn crackers and reflected on how much he had lied to me during our online text chat. He really had led me up the garden path and I wasn't impressed. He returned from the loo and sat back down, saying 'thanks for that'. For goodness sake, I'm not the toilet keeper. If you want to have a wee, please don't ask me if it's ok! It's just politeness gone mad.
To be honest, I couldn't wait to get home. He was a nice guy, but he wasn't being himself. He was being too perfect. Too polite. Too nice. Seemed like he was doing everything so I would think he was my ideal man.
What he failed to notice was that I am not a broody thirtysomething woman, I don't need to be treated with kid gloves and I respect people who go to work.
I find that sometimes men treat me like a Faberge Egg. A precious thing that needs to be put in a glass case and not disturbed or upset. You may think this is a nice way to be treated, but it's really annoying and it makes you feel like a little woman. Not an equal.
I texted him the next day and told him I didn't think we were right for each other. He very politely replied saying 'no hard feelings'. I do wish him all the best in his search for the mother of his future 'bayba', which I write phonetically, in his accent.
Next!...
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