Would you like to go for a drink?

Question is, how many is too many? Most first dates are the simple ‘lets go a drink’ date. No one wants to eat on a first date or to have the pressure of doing something fun or different with someone you don’t really know. Easier to escape from a bar too (if needs be). Most of the time you want a drink to ease any nerves and relax. A couple of drinks on a mid week night. But this can go oh so wrong if you have the one too many…

A girl at works swears by driving to her dates, even if it is in a bar round the corner. She says this is just so she has the excuse to leave after one drink. And she usually does. And she never goes on a second date. Part of me thinks she must have had a bad experience when drinking. Most drunk date stories do usually involve the girl getting too drunk (and oh i have don’t you worry) but this one is the reverse…

Drunken Date 1. Mr Wigan

I matched with Mr Wigan on Tinder last year. Lots of topless photos of Ibiza holidays. Not my thing but good bod. Face wasn’t offensive either. Height looked standard, not small but not too tall (reminder 1. ALWAYS ask the height question). Had a bit of banter. So we agreed to meet in Manchester on a Saturday night (reminder number 2. NEVER give up a Friday or Saturday night for a first date). He was coming over from Wigan and said it would be cheaper for him to get a hotel room then a taxi home. Hmm, what are you expecting boy??

Saturday comes around and he offers to pick me up. I said don’t be stupid, you’d be going back on yourself to come pick me up. I said I don’t care how much you want to show off your car I’ll get an Uber. He later confirmed he had some fancy white Merc (on finance). FYI got my own snazzy German wheels, don’t need anyone else’s to impress me (all the women independent and all that…).

It turned out that he was staying in a cheap hotel on the outskirts so I picked him up in my taxi at 8pm. Easier than having to find that stranger in a bar I thought. Whilst on the way he sends a selfie of himself in the mirror saying ‘shes lucky’. Obviously meant to go to one of his mates. CRINGE! I reply saying you’ve just sent that to me….

He got in the taxi and the instant smell of booze hit me. As did his height, much shorter than expected, maybe only a 5’9 (I’m 5.’6 and wearing huge heels). And smaller, I’m not after a muscle man but I feel like this is complete false advertising.

After initial p*ss taking and laughs over the accidental selfie he starts the conversation, ‘Have you had a drink?’

‘No, not yet have you?’

‘Just 6 bottles of Coors Light in the hotel room’.

So sober Sally and (soon to be) Wankered Wigan arrive in Manchester. Australisia was his choice of bar. A little pretentious for me but I went with it. He paid for the taxi so I said I’d go to the bar. The cocktail menu had lots of exotic names, with no actual description of what they were,so a standard gin and tonic for me (plus my round, keep costs down). He picked a cocktail. He had no idea what it was. I was starting to wonder whether he had ever been out of Wigan before.

The bartender takes what feels like several hours making the cocktail in a fancy but very girly martini glass. ‘I aren’t drinking outa that’, says Mr Wigan in strong northern accent. So I also order him a beer. In one gulp he knocks the cocktail straight down in one and starts on the beer. Now I realize, hes on his eight drink and I’m on my first, this is not going to end well…for him.

Few drinks later and hes ordering shots. Keeps moaning that I’m not as drunk as him. Drops into conversation that he still lives with his mum. She can’t afford to live without him, sob story. Keeps asking me how I got into nursing. I’m not a nurse. Tell him this several times. I work in an office. Hes swaying. And then come the tears….He starts apologizing that he isn’t as big as his photos. Explains how his friends pushed him into taking steroids before their lads holidays to get big. Says he doesn’t want to do it but he cant not. Gets upset. All this emotion starts making me feel uncomfortable. Do I hug him? Refer him to talk to FRANK? Does FRANK still exist? Someone kill me now.

At this point I excuse myself and nip to the loo. Text my friend ‘Can I just leave without saying bye?’ She reminds me I’m not like that, be honest. ish.

‘Look I think you’d had a few too many and I’m not quite there yet. You seem like a great guy (lie). Why don’t I drop you back off at your hotel and we’ll arrange to go out for food or something another time (never gonna happen)?’

He was like a sad puppy with his tail between his legs. He knew he’d embarrassed himself and very quickly agreed. Hes apologizing again, its starting to make me feel a little sick. Knows hes said too much. He has to hold in the need to spew in the taxi. I don’t think I’ve ever felt embarrassed or sorry for a date in this way. I couldn’t wait to say goodbye. By 10pm I’d dropped him off at his hotel and was on my way to meet the girls in the Tiki bar, nightmare over.

The next day, in text, he blamed it on me. I was intimidating because I’d been to uni and that….There was no 2nd date.

So men beware…pre -booze =early snooze. Stories of my drunken exploits next time.

Exciting life news – I have a date on Wednesday. Hes 35, cute and in the teaching profession. Will keep you posted next week. Wish me luck x


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