The Suzi Tinder Dating Chronicles: Chpt 3 – March to the beat of your own drum

awkward

So the last couple of dates have been a complete disaster. My luck has to change some time right? Well, it did and it didn’t. If you know what I mean. Well, you probably don’t know what I mean so allow me to explain. Let’s meet bachelor number 3. Not a celebrity look alike but very attractive and fit all the same. He was pretty funny and quite charming in our numerous tinder conversations and after about a month I agreed to go on a date with him. We decided on a pub out in the shire and thought driving and having one drink was the safe option (since it had been a while and I was worried my chachee was starting to seal itself shut). I turned up and sent a message that I would just wait by my car until he got there because there’s nothing more frustrating or awkward finding someone in a crowded pub who you’ve never actually met before. I waited. No text back. So I called. No answer. So I waited another 10 minutes then called again. No answer. Waited another 10 minutes then called again. No answer. This fucking arsehole has stood me up? I’ve driven all the way to the Shire for fucks sake! I get back in my car and kick it over and he calls. I have to be careful now how to proceed with the story without sounding like a completely insensitive twat. Ok I’m just gonna say it. When he started to speak I was momentarily baffled. He spoke with one of the heaviest speech impediments I’ve ever heard in my life. I think he said “I’m almost there?” but I’m not sure. But by the time I processed what he said he was there in front of me with a big cute grin on his face. Note to self: Ring them rather than tinder conversations in future.

 

So he looked just like his picture but he failed to mention in any of our conversations that he was 80% deaf in both ears. Ah, now I see why he didn’t answer the phone. Not a big deal. I got this. Try to remember your Auslan, Suzi…. You only did it for like 8 months. The pub was a horrendously bad idea, the noise of punters and plates and glasses and football… The conversation went, Suzi – “yeah I was actually born overseas.” Date – “what?” Suzi – “ I SAID I WAS BORN OVERSEAS” Date – “I don’t like peas either.” Ok, don’t panic. Think of an alternative. Ummm… get drunk. And drunk I did. Bad… super super bad idea. We ended up moving outside where it was quiet and I got to know him a lot better. He was a really sweet guy with a really quiet disposition and told me the stock standard stories of his childhood and a few funny jokes about goats or something like that. When the night was winding down and I was waaaaaaaaay pissed, I just kinda blurted out “so you live around here right?” It’s at this point you should ask yourself, how much about Suzi do I really want to know. If the answer is “not much” you need to stop reading.

 

So I didn’t just jump straight on in there, we had another drink and talked for another hour or two while I tried to process in my mind whether this was a good idea. When he leant over and gave me a kiss, it sealed the deal. He was a good kisser, really gentle and thoughtful. I went “ok cool, you can tell a lot about someone by the way they kiss you so let’s give this a go and break the drought.” I’ll spare you the details and focus on the most important thing without trying to sound like an arsehole. Ask yourself this question… How can you dance if you can’t hear a beat? Where does your inbuilt sense of rhythm come from? When it comes to sex, rhythm is pretty fucking important. This was like going for a drive in a Hilux with hard suspension down a Darwin red dirt road, you know the corrugated ones that make you feel like your teeth are going to fall out?  Or that time running for the train and I fell down the stairs at central station and bumped down every single step on my ass. Awful doesn’t even begin to describe it. The worse part was when I tried to give some gentle instruction or reassurance. “What? Did you say something?” *face palm* “NO- PLEASE CONTINUE (I think tomorrow I’m going to Westfield’s to buy that dress I saw at Forever New. What the fuck is the time? Tomorrow I’ll have to remember to put the bins out. I really like this doona cover, I wonder where he got it).” In the morning, he begged me to stay, at least for breakfast but no matter how much I showered, I couldn’t get rid of the bad sex vibe. I don’t like to think of myself as shallow, and I would have seen him again, but there’s one thing I refuse to settle for and that is rubbish sex. No O? No chance. Next…

 

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