Here it is - the 'yeet' story

Before I start, I feel the need to trigger warn anyone who may be prone to experiencing second hand embarrassment, this one may not be for the faint hearted.

Let me take you back, to a past-single version of myself. I mean, I am still painfully single, but for the sake of giving this a happy ending, let us imagine that I learn from my mistakes and bag myself a husband. The year is 2018 (?), or 2019 (?), (these details are, regrettably, a lot hazier than the recollection of the event itself) either way, it is at a point in my life where I was in the process of downloading every dating app available to me. This particularly lucky lad was found on Bumble and promptly received a message from me. This message, unsurprisingly, was witty and flirtatious enough to warrant a reply. This reply turned into many, and, as these things unfortunately go, Snapchat details were exchanged. May I point out, this was my first mistake. If I have gained any useful experience from my time on these apps, it is that you can always tell what a guy is after depending on the app he asks for your details on. This man, as I have said, wanted my Snapchat, and, we eventually arranged to meet. Now, I am not, and to my credit, was not then, naive to the expectations this man would have had going into this 'meet'. I am careful to call this a meet-up and not a date, because I reckon we are all are more than capable of reading between those lines...

Cut to however many days later, and I am making my way over to, (let's call him Gary, why not), Gary's house. The first hurdle came before even reaching the house, as the road name he gave me had both 'road' and 'avenue' versions, meaning, you guessed it, I initially rocked up at the 'avenue', to which no one answered my many knocks. Feeling shaken, but not completely hopeless, I gave Gary a call, and we had a great laugh about how, whoopsie, I got the address wrong. Panic averted, I now set off again on my way to shag Gary. I mean, to 'meet-up' with him!!!

Finally, I reached Casa Gary, and it was in fact Gary who opened the door. Now, reader, I was not cat-fished here, as it was Gary who opened the door. However, Gary had clearly been significantly editing his photos and also lying about his height. To offer a clearer picture, I am 5'11 myself, and Gary, I would hazard a guess, was not the 6'2 man he had claimed to be. Before I get cancelled for disrespecting 'short kings', please know it wasn't the height I was bothered by, it was the lie, which I hope you can understand, thanks. For some reason, this story isn't over, because I didn't leave, yet continued with the 'meet-up', even with the knowledge that this wasn't going to end the way, I imagine, Gary had in mind.

Gary offered to crack open a rather lovely bottle of red wine, and who was I to awkwardly refuse such a gift? Gary, in all his valiant efforts to seduce, allowed me to polish off the bottle myself, whilst proudly giving me a tour of his student flat. This tour included such sights as the latex ski suit hanging from his wardrobe next to (I assume) a related trophy, the assignment he was working on at the time, and the poster of the periodic table on his wall. It may seem like I would be a fool to turn away such a man, and you're right. I was NO fool. I had already set my mind against sleeping with Gary, yet, still hadn't made any effort to leave what was now turning into quite an uncomfortable situation for both parties. In another attempt to set the mood, Gary then asked me what my favourite colour was. Thrown with this new topic of conversation, I informed him in a panic that it was 'purple, I guess?'. This then triggered a dramatic change in ambience as the lights suddenly changed from white to purple. Mortified, I moved to sit on the bed. Gary, and I don't blame him, clearly took this as a sign that his wooing techniques were working, and proceeded with another question. This time, it was to ask my favourite song. I could not possibly tell you what my favourite song would have actually been at that time, but it certainly wasn't 'Gold on the Ceiling' by the Black Keys, which was what I decided to tell Gary. Delighted, Gary informed Alexa and next thing I knew, some light 2010's rock was being blasted under the purple LED lights. Meanwhile, I had subconsciously shuffled to the very corner of the bed, creating as much space between Gary and I as possible, and upon hearing this sad excuse for a sexy song, I was brought to my senses and realised this could go on no further.

Reader, I will give you all the credit you deserve. At this point, I believe, you would (if you had even reached this point of the night) have said something along the lines of, 'thank you, but goodnight' and promptly left. However, I did not feel like this was the appropriate response and so I searched for my own. What I settled on, however, is not what I, or anyone else would deem 'appropriate'. In an cringe-filled haze, I shrugged my shoulders, flung my arms in the style of those inflatable tube men you find at car dealerships, and loudly announced I was 'gonna YEET myself out of here'.

After that, everything all happened rather quickly, and all to the shock of poor Gary. I got up, left and made my way home, calling every friend I knew to offload my shame.

I heard from Gary again, as this incident seemingly hadn't put him off, but I couldn't bear to revisit such a low point of my life. I went ahead and deleted him and got on with making more, horrific, memories at the expense of my love life. This was by no means an event I learnt from, which led to many more stories I will undoubtedly reveal on here in a feeble attempt at gaining something. If not love, then money.