The Suzi Tinder Dating Chronicles: Chapter 4 – Ultimate Fighting Champion of the World


Ahh fitness. Such an important part of life isn’t it? Well… for me, my cardio is walking from my couch to the fridge and my weight training is lifting my daughter upwards from the area between my TV unit and the wall when she gets stuck. It happens frequently. You should see my guns. So what happens when you date a fitness freak?

Another tinder fella, another month long conversation of what is your favourite food, what is your favourite colour, fucking kill me. He persisted for a while so I agreed to go on a date. So in the pictures he was super fit, sporting a full head of dark brown hair and looked super happy. In reality, he was less than conditioned, bald and looked like he’d just been told there’s no Santa. During the course of dinner he talked fairly extensively about his fitness journey and his injuries and how it was very sad that he couldn’t train how he used to. The whole working out/fitness thing dominated almost every part of the conversation and at one point I think I asked if he had any interests outside of living in the gym. UFC was his response.

Now, I don’t know anything about UFC other than Rhonda Roussey is a total badass and that grown men kick each other in the face until one of them is bleeding so profusely they call it quits or they hit the deck and don’t get up. I’m seriously not a fan. But I persevered because saying “UFC is shit” might kinda kill the momentum of this totally bullshit conversation. “Oh UFC, cool… (quick Suzi, think of anything remotely UFC related to add to this conversation)… I punched a girl at boarding school once but I wouldn’t call it ultimate fighting or anything, would be nice to learn how to get out of tricky situations…” His eyes lit up. “Seriously it’s not that hard, I’ll show you.” We are in the middle of a packed restaurant and up he stands and ascends on me like an old todger waiting at Centrelink for pension day (remember the injury? Slight limp). He’s like “this is called (insert outrageously inappropriate in public UFC move here)” as he grabs my wrists and bends me into some kind of nautical sailing knot. I could have forgiven the previous hours conversation even though it was so boring I could have pried off my fingernails with my steak knife, just for something better to do, but any girl on boy wrestling that doesn’t result in sex is like going to a shoe shop and not buying any shoes. I am not having it… people are staring at me. What the actual fuck? Is this really happening? I laughed hella awkwardly and said “thanks so much I’ll remember that for any would be rapists.” Kinda trying to remember that move in case he tries anything later on…

The clincher. To kiss, or not to kiss on a first date. Depends on your chemistry. Of which, I felt, we had zero. He politely walked me to my car while I internally panicked that something bad was going to happen. Also very bad if you know you don’t want to kiss someone. When he came in to plant one on me I dodged and he awkwardly got my ear. Ugh. Thanks for the nice night blah blah hope to see you again (not going to happen). Then just as I’m about to hop in the car he yells “FUCK ITTTTTT!!!!!” He grabbed me by the arm and spun me around, put one hand behind my head (at this point there was no escape unless I commando rolled into my car) and he planted one on me, tongue and all and I moved backwards and backwards until I was actually sitting in my car trying to put my seatbelt on. In the words of Lelo Dallas from the Fifth Element, “Senno ecto gammat!!!!!” (Never again without my permission for those who haven’t seen the movie).

The next day the obligatory “you’re such a great girl” text to which I replied, “I fucking hate UFC dude, you’re on your own.” NEXT…

Leeloo Dallas

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