A Date I’d Rather Forget.

Date Diary: October 2019.

“He’s a good egg.”

There’s no reply to my messages as I arrive at his street. I tell him I’m outside. I call. Nothing.

I really shouldn’t be just going into some randomers house without going on a date first. He could be one of these dating app killers. But you know, you’ve got to have some exciting memories to tell the grandkids - I keep telling myself this but it’s clearly terrible advice.

I’m about to drive away. A waste of time. Next, a man and a woman climb out of a taxi and walk inside. They are far down the street and it’s dark so I can’t make them out fully. Surely that can’t be him. He invited me over.

Finally, a reply.

He opens his door and steps outside as I request to check he's really who he says he is. I can’t tell if that’s the house where I just saw a man and woman walk into.

Cut to inside. I’m in the kitchen with Kyle - who is in a suit, stinks of alcohol and is currently pouring himself another glass of wine - and his sister. Yes, that’s right. I’m on a date with a drunk stranger and his middle-aged sister in their kitchen.

Is she leaving? What’s going on here? I feel very uncomfortable.

She seems to know who I am which I'm not sure if I find odd, or romantic.

‘John, right?’

He basically ignores me for a good ten minutes while they have a conversation over the top of me. Kyle then leaves me and his sister alone to chat for a while whilst he goes upstairs.

Where is he going? What on earth is going here?

I discover that she works as a nurse. We end up having a lovely chat about the current climate of the NHS.

‘He’s a good egg,’ she states. Not the vibe I’m getting.

She finally leaves, without much of a hurry from Kyle. Does he want some sort of a social event in his kitchen with his sister and a random guy he’s invited around off tinder?

He pours me a drink as he slurs and brags about his apparent success in his line of work that I can't quite piece together. He puffs an e-cigarette which immediately reduces any chances he had of getting laid. I just find it unattractive. I don’t get it and I cannot stand those fake fruit scents they have.

At one point he leaves me (again) downstairs for twenty minutes whilst I hear him chatting to his sister upstairs.

Just leave, just leave now!

I briefly indulge in conversation; I can’t believe I left my sofa and a riveting episode of Desperate Housewives for this. I don’t know why I’m still even here, but as I tell him I’m leaving soon he can’t escape the idea of me staying over.

He pushes for it, and suddenly, I’m questioning it. Why? He was attractive on Tinder before I met him and his awful personality.

I’m not here to save anybody. You are not here to save anybody. Go, home!

I debate it a little further, he says not even to have sex, just for a sleepover. I don’t even know what that means. Does he want company? Or is he using slimy pick-up lines to get into my pants?

He tells me about his ex, the one that broke his heart. Left him like this. I shouldn’t care. I’m not an afterthought, the rebound. You are not here to save anybody... You are worth more than this!

I’m annoyed at myself for even indulging in the thought of being there for him. To save him from the mess he is. He doesn’t deserve me, even just for the night. His sister is here. He lives with her. He’s made no effort to win me over.

I finally come around to my senses and leave him to sober up with his sister.

The next day I decide maybe I should see if he’s any different, maybe squeeze an apology. I send him a text. ‘Morning morning.’

Read, no reply.

I honestly have never cared less. Which is why it’s even more confusing that a week later I message him again with a ‘Hey’, less because I want to see him again, and more because I should be the one to leave him on read, and unfollow him, not the other way around.

I’ve lost this game I’m playing with myself, but ultimately, I’m happy I didn’t spend the night, or subsequent nights with him. I dodged a bullet.