Ok, first date of the year. A friend fix up, not a tinder date… So i’m still on track for 365 days of no Tinder. This one really needs the scene set otherwise you’re not going to get the whole comedic value of the story. So, fact #1. I need to go to Vanuatu for work in two weeks. It required me to get a Typhoid and Hep A vaccination. Which I did. I had completely forgotten what it was like to receive a vaccine and I was (and still am) in agony. I feel like Aron Rolston, obviously BEFORE he chopped his arm off to escape the rock. So the arm is now dead and hanging limply by my side. I can’t move it, it hurts to drive, to brush my hair, to lie down, it fucking hurts to exist.
Fact #2. Obviously, because of fact A, getting ready became difficult. I picked the safest bet dress wise that I could pull upwards over my bod. It was browny/Maroony colour and in hindsight, maybe not the BEST look at this moment in time. It reminded me of a brown sack, but it fit over my arse and that’s better than going naked. I also dry shampoo’d my hair by leaning over instead of showering and washing it and voila. I am so smart. READY! One problem, I could not find a lipstick at all that matched the brown sack. I tried on and took off every single one I owned, none of them quite fitting until I decided no man was worth this ordeal. In the process of doing this, I rubbed my lips raw. So Imagine Kylie Jenner post lip op… stung by bees and in a world of pain but still trying to look super cute.
Fact #3. Because I was hating on life, and my arm hurt so much I waited until 20 minutes before I was supposed to be there to get ready. The lipstick ordeal took 10 minutes that left 10 minutes to be out the door. I looked downwards at my legs… ½ inch furry blackness. It looks like I’m wearing all blacks rugby socks. This is a timely reminder to myself to get laser. No worries. Got a little pocket electric shaver for xmas, I’ll just use that. I do one leg and the batteries run out. I tried stealing them from the TV remote, from my kids toys, from some xmas decorations (which were boxed up and downstairs) and no. What the fuck? They only take special batteries you have to import from Zimbabwe? Remind me to write an angry letter.
Here we go… Let’s get this date done and dusted. I rock up to this bar, lips all swollen and raw, smelling of medicated lip balm because it’s the only thing that stopped them from burning, shuffling slightly so’s not to disturb my dead arm which is still hanging limply by my side with one furry leg which I attempt to hide behind my non furry leg. Who’s going to look that closely though really? I glance downwards to reassure myself that it’s not noticeable. Fucking hell, you could see that shit from space. I am a sight to behold. He wasn’t there yet so I go up to the bar and order myself a glass of wine and find a seat. I check myself quickly in my compact mirror. Did you know dry shampoo and no styling makes your hair stick straight up if the wind catches it? Lucky for me it was a particularly windy night. I have a conversation to myself to kill the time that goes “why the fuck are you here… I donno bitch… you look like an injured Ewok … It’s not too late to run away”.
I see him coming towards me and he awkwardly leans in to give me a hand shake… I go to return the favour but my brain and my body fail me. It’s happening in slow motion. Oh no… he’s left handed? My bung arm starts to rise… OH NO STOP SUZI! YOU’RE NOT GONNA MAKE IT!!!!!!!! The pain radiates up my arm until my face starts to grimace. I instinctively recoil in pain and my elbow grazes my full wine glass. DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWN SHE GOES! Not my BEAUTIFUL New Zealand Sav Blanc that cost me $9… Ok we’re off to a flying start. We move past the awkwardness I’d created to discover he is one of life’s truly awkward human beings all by himself. Zero eye contact, fidgety and genuinely uncomfortable. I am Quasimodo, so I understand his reluctance to be there. We make general uninteresting an uninspired chit chat about his work for a time before we call it a night. He walks me out of the bar before gesturing that his car was in the opposite direction. He extends his arm to shake my hand again but obviously experiences some Vietnam style war flash back and decides that’s not a good idea, takes a step back from me and says “thanks, nice to meet you…”
And off I shuffle to go ring the bell tower.