THE DATING DISASTERS WE CAN’T QUITE FORGET
The path of true love is riddled with potholes. Big thanks to the Audrey community for sharing these dating horrors.
I went on a couple of dates with an exceptionally bright, handsome chap, a divorced father of two. On Date Two he cried in front of me, claiming I must be special as he was vulnerable in front of me. Ended up with a nightcap at his place. After sex I went for a shower, from where you could see right into the bedroom… and guess who was on his phone immediately, swiping right/left? I left in the morning and ended it there, but subsequently received a message from him apologising for not giving me the attention I deserve. When I called him out on his post-sex dating app check for greener grass he was mortified.
Handsome but slightly arrogant Tom was my crush when we were at school, so when I bumped into him at a club a few years later, I was thrilled when he chatted me up. One extremely passionate encounter later I thought I’d found The One, but he spoiled it by telling me “Well, that was lovely. You know, you’d be quite good looking if you lost a little weight”.
I wore 3-inch high clompy lilac suede wedges on a second date. And fell right off them while navigating my way down a cobbled street. My date burst out laughing and got a mouthful – I was in agony. A date that ended with a romantic trip to A&E for a sprained ankle. On my own.
In my 30s I met A at a Christmas party. We danced, flirted, snogged and he took my number, promising to call. I was instantly besotted with him and he genuinely seemed smitten. But after that, silence. I pined for days and ruined Christmas for myself waiting for the phone to ring. I literally could think of nothing else. When he finally got round to calling on January 4th I was in a complete state of anxious anticipation. Then we met for a drink and I was gutted to realise that the beer goggles had lied. I didn’t fancy him in the slightest!
Just as the meal was served my date took my hands across the table and looked into my eyes to impart some romantic words, accidentally pressing my forearms into the hot ‘al forno’ dish… yep, blister burns just above the wrist, left and right.
Met a guy at a speed dating event. He thought he was God’s gift to women and on our date did everything to impress. Except when it came to a night in a swish London hotel where he insisted on a bath first (for him) and then proved to be a major disappointment. Defined the phrase ‘all mouth and no trousers’!
I remember at uni, sitting in a room full of mates ready to watch something on telly and suddenly my new boyfriend was all over me like an octopus and whispering loudly (ugh) into my ear in front of everybody. Omg. Utter Mortification. And a swift end to that particular boyfriend.
I met a handsome 40 year old chap online. He was slightly kinky which was fun and intriguing. He sent me dirty stories via Whatsapp audio to listen to whilst at a pretty dull conference. We met up a few times and then over a glass of wine, he leaned in and told me I would make an excellent high class hooker. Now as someone who is doing an MBA and works in finance, this has never crossed my mind. I kindly passed.
Freshly divorced, I threw myself into using dating apps and soon met this floppy haired, preppy, divorced Chelsea father of three. He was the perfect date, took me to the cinema, cooked me breakfast in the morning… and also when popping out to purchase the breakfast, came back with a heap of flowers. So romantic and just the TLC I needed post my mentally abusive husband experience. Slightly oddly, he introduced me to his kids as his girlfriend in Week 2. Told me he loved me and ‘let’s do this!’ Too good to be true right? But then when we went away on a break to the Cotwolds in his sports car I soon got the impression he was not present for this adventure. During the night I saw him get up and record the rain in his naked glory. And he kept on nipping out to make ‘business calls’. So at breakfast I asked what was happening. And he frankly told me that he needed to be dating someone more middle to upper class and preferably with a home in France.
Back in my uni days I met a guy at a gig and went back to his. He seemed perfectly normal, not bad looking, had the requisite all-black clothing and multi-buckled studded boots and spiky hair of the day, not unlike myself (apologies, this was early 80s). It was only when I got to his room and saw the SHRINE OF SWASTIKAS AND NAZI MEMORABILIA on his bedroom wall that I made my excuses and scarpered. What a catch!
I was dating a 47-year-old fresh from the banking world and building a brilliant Tech business who I’d met on happen (geo location dating site). We had a fun nights in the arts club and I was treated like a goddess. Unmarried and childless, he was charming and sweet but we never slept together. One day he called me, superbly excited about an offer: 1) be my wife and give me a child – preferably a boy; 2) become my private PA. I politely declined both offers.
Met my new boyfriend’s best friends for the first time. Was a bit nervous about it all (I was only 17). Drank far too much Cinzano and promptly projectile vomited down the back of the other lovely girlfriend. And she had beautiful long hair. She was incredibly gracious about it but I have never drunk Cinzano since.
I once met up with someone I met online at a time when I was young and hopeful enough to fully believe I was off to meet my future husband. Before the starters arrived it was clear he was not but I smiled and nodded my way through Star Wars and horror film conversation. I was so disappointed. But these themes rang a bell and I knew he was perfect for my friend! The date came to an end, I was completely honest that we weren’t to be, but gave him my friend’s number. They ended up dating for six months. Disaster for me but not for them!
For our third date M, a policeman, invited me over to his and as I got on the train that evening, he sent me a message that the house was a state. Great. What exactly did he mean by ‘a state’? When we got to his house, I couldn’t believe what I saw. There were piles of rubbish all over the floor, half eaten cereal bars lying around, cigarette ash everywhere. There had to be several months’ worth of layers of dust on his furniture, it even looked greasy. And the rug looked like the bottom of a bird cage. His toilet resembled the one in Trainspotting, shit splattered all over the toilet bowl and the sink had dirty water with bits of hair from where he’d shaved. I didn’t take my shoes off all evening until we went to bed – thankfully he had put new bed clothes on. To be honest I wanted to go home but I’d missed the last train and knew the Uber would be expensive from where he lived. I was up and out by nine thirty the next morning and went home for a bloody good shower. Needless to say I called it off!
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