My bad! But...am I bad???
I hope you've all had the best possible Monday you could manage?
Last year I subscribed to a dating site. After a couple of weeks of chatting online with a particular guy, we arranged (against my better judgement) to meet up for a date in the next town. I suggested a pub that I had never been to before, but had heard plenty of people praise the place. We agreed to meet there in the car park at 7.30pm on a Wednesday evening during July. Not having had any prior telephone conversation (the norm for me) ss I was driving over I started to feel rather uncomfortable about the date.
There was no sign of his car when I pulled into the car park, but as I was roughly five minutes early I didn’t feel particularly concerned. Seven thirty came and went, as did seven forty-five…no signs of him. Seven forty-six a text message pinged (yes, we had exchanged phone numbers, just not bothered using them before). The message said “about to set off”. Oh shit, I just had a really bad feeling and didn’t want to be there. In a panic, I turned the ignition on and started reversing my car, intent on getting out of there. I was just about to put the car into ‘drive’ and saw his car turn into the car park. No room to drive past him! Shit, shit, and more SHIT!! He’d spotted me and suddenly I found myself with no alternative but to pull back into my space and grin and bear it.
Once in the pub, it was pretty difficult to find a table, but eventually one became vacant. He took the lead in the conversation immediately and I struggled to find a gap in his verbal diarrhoea to even utter the odd “Yes” or “No”. For forty minutes he wittered on about owning two vegan/vegetarian shops with cafes. Bloody hell, I heard all about the ethics and the benefits to health that one can gain by being vegan. Double bloody hell! He proceeded to list every product that he stocked. I stifled yawns every few seconds. Trying to appear interested, I watched his face as he spoke and noticed he turned his nose up in distaste every now and then. Finally, he decided to let me say a few words, because suddenly the conversation turned. It was eight fifty by then!
“So, you write erotica? WHY?” (his best judgmental voice, almost scandalised)
I looked at my watch. “Hell, is that the time? I really must fly! Sorry! It’s been…interesting!”
Grabbing my bag, I hurried out to the car, without giving him the option to accompany me to the car park.
Yes, the date was a big mistake. However, I couldn’t help but find one massive source of amusement from the evening after all. The reason we had struggled to find a table? Wednesday nights in that particular pub? Apparently, their very popular STEAK NIGHT!!!! (STILL SNORTING WITH LAUGHTER EVERY TIME I REMEMBER THIS!)
I had a friend staying over for a few nights. We hadn’t seen each other for a few years and I had really been looking forward to her company. But after a few days of suffering her excessive OCD issues, she had really started to get on my tits. On her last night, we prepared a lovely meal and took our places at the kitchen table. We indulged in a bit of idle chit chat as we ate (my mind wandering at times, eagerly awaiting her departure the next morning). Then from somewhere behind me, came the noise of frantic scratting in the litter tray by my favourite feline. (Oh-oh! This could go only go one of two ways!) A minute later my nostrils were assailed by the horrendous stench! My fucking cat was taking a dump…and he couldn’t have picked a better time! From where my friend was sat, she would have a full view!
Normally quite disgusted myself by my pet’s timings, I was determined to remain un-phased on this occasion. I continued with our mealtime banter, taking in every little squirm, every nose twitch and the furrowed brow. It took less than two minutes. She placed her knife and fork together at the side of her half-eaten meal.
“I…I feel quite f…full tonight somehow! Th…thanks, Eva! (She stuttered).
Turning ash white with eyes wide, she began to wretch as if she was impersonating my cat with a fur ball. Then she put her hands to her mouth and got up in readiness to run to the toilet to throw up. But that was when the OCD insanity kicked in. Seeing that she’d left the cutlery out of line on her plate she stopped her mad dash, lowered her hands and then put her knife and fork straight, on the table by the side of her plate. Once that was arranged to her taste she resumed her vomit dash. Fortunately for me and my carpets she managed to make the bowl before she hurled but the noise shocked my poor feline.
Then eventually she came out of the bathroom with red streaming eyes and hair newly decorated with what could best be described as hints of diced carrot. Taking a long drink of water to wash her mouth she kept glancing at the brown souvenir that the cat had left us. Without speaking, her look said it all, and the more she tried to signal me to clean it up, the more determined I was to leave it where it was, sod the smell. In the battle of wits there could have only been one winner and I was loving the sight of her squirming in utter discomfort.
All I can say is that my beloved cat helped me out, as the annoying OCD friend that had got on and jumped up and down on my nerves for too long, feigned tiredness and went to bed in the biggest strop imaginable.
Bless you cat pooh!
Love and hugs