[this post is going to be a bit disjointed as I wanted to get it straight down. I need to do some updating over Christmas, at which point all will become much clearer. in the meantime, i still think this stands alone as a hilarious story that i wanted to share. “He” has been re-christened Dave in an executive decision. I found out on Friday that Dave has a new girlfriend.]<\/p>\n
So… My Saturday evening had got off to a somewhat shaky start – I was expected to miss the final of Strictly to go to a friend’s leaving drinks. The ignominy. A compromise was reached whereby I went home, watched the final then queued (by myself) for an hour to re-join my friends in some bar in South London. Dedication’s what you need… (Rachel wuz robbed btw.)<\/p>\n
Once I was finally in, I found myself in a state of high dudgeon due to a) Dave’s new girlfriend b) Rachel being robbed c) queuing – this last being entirely my own fault. I briefly contemplated just turning around and leaving but then realised a) this would make me a bad, shitty friend b) there was no reality tv left to watch when I got home anyway c) I would inevitably spend the rest of the night sobbing over scenarios in my head where Dave and new girlfriend (probably Danielle Lloyd or similar) have a fun-packed evening at some celeb-filled party that maybe even Dane Bowers would be at. So I endeavoured to buck up, sharpish and joined my friends in some ridiculous beam-hugging dancing. Whilst caterwauling along to Ain’t No Other Man, a pretty young thing sidled up to me. Now, he was definitely pretty but he was also definitely young. However, there was every chance he could be a baby-faced 30 year old with an exterior that screamed youth but the soul of a desperately suave and cultured man. His ‘in’ should have been my first clue:
\n“are you a dancer?”<\/p>\n
ummmm…. You may be pretty, but you are shit at this… He was also obviously pretty pissed. Which obviously I was still wary of, following the whole Superhot fiasco (even now, not a day goes by without me raising a fist to the sky and roaring “damn you superhot” at some point. Stupid superhot. Anyway, he has no place in this story. Back to the PYT…). He was at the stage of pissed where he refused to acknowledge that he was pissed however. So anyway, we exchanged some banter, most of it gibberish (some dance-off related) then a Rage Against The Machine song came on. PYT became very animated at this point and asked me if I knew who RATM were (I think he was trying to score Cool Points by knowing an obscure – ? – band )
\nMe: Yes. Actually, I saw them at Reading once
\nPYT: At a wedding?
\nMe: No. READING
\nPYT: *with a look of very faint alarm* How old are you?
\nMe: I’m VERY old. Really.<\/p>\n
PYT wrestles with this internally then I think decides I’m joking and leads me off to a corner of the dancefloor. Matters progress over the course of the next 5 minutes and when he leans in to kiss me i decide to let him because a) he’s pretty b) I’m curious as to whether my nose will hurt or not (it does a bit. i definitely can’t have sex yet – brilliant, 5k spent on a sex inhibitor. As if I needed the help c) Dave and Danielle are probably doing it on a bearskin rug right now, so I may as well get a piece of the action. Anyway, there’s some kissing and some dancing, then I notice that PYT seems to be swaying more than before and think it’s probably time he took the weight off.
\nMe: I think you need to sit down
\nPYT: Oh god. can you tell?
\nMe: Well, yes
\nPYT: Is it that obvious?
\nMe: Well, yes [he’s being kind of weird about how noticeably drunk he is, but hey]
\nPYT: Do you think anyone else has noticed?
\nMe: Ummm, well, yes. *start pointing around dancefloor* They have, they have, they definitely have. [I’m just taking the piss, obviously]
\nPYT: Oh no. *really, visibly embarrassed* I don’t want to be known as Mr Erection.<\/p>\n
[speechless]<\/p>\n
I realise that my concern over his inebriation has been misconstrued as him thinking i’d noticed his apparently raging boner. The fact that I hadn’t is probably cause for concern, come to think of it. Anyway, i am now left in the impossible situation of not being able to say “no, i just meant you’re drunk and unsteady” because now his boner is already (literally) out there. I cringe inwardly and think he’s DEFINITELY not 30. I just hope he’s out of school. I stand there wondering what the etiquette is in this situation then about 20 seconds later, I SWEAR he said the following:
\nPYT: It’s ok, I think it’s deflating. have a look.<\/p>\n
Reader, I did not look. Instead I thought I should probably duck out at the earliest opportunity. He was pretty though. Oh, hang on, there was something else he had to say…
\nPYT: So, how old are you?
\nMe: I am REALLY old
\nPYT: No, really
\nME: Really, I’m really old. How old are you hoping I’m going to say?
\nPYT: No more than 28.
\nMe: You are shit out of luck then. <\/p>\n
And i hold up 3 fingers on one hand and one finger on the other. I have a brief moment where I wonder whether he’s going to be able to crack this fiendishly difficult code then I see his eyes widen so am relieved that at least he has a rudimentary grasp of something (other than his erection).<\/p>\n
PYT: 31?
\nMe: Yep. how old are you?
\nPYT: 25
\nMe: Hmmmm
\nPYT: I mean, I have no idea why someone like you would be single at 31 (Yay for PYT. I have no idea why I am either. Maybe I should warn him that your 30s can be a dark and scary place but why shatter his boyish hopes and dreams?). But if I’m completely honest, I don’t think I’m going to be up for the kind of relationship a 31 year-old would want. I’d still love to take you home though.<\/p>\n
Bless PYT. But this isn’t Do Grandma A Favour night, so I suggest to him that the time has come for us to part company. He seems really shocked and says:
\nI’m just being honest
\nMe: So am I. And I really think you need to go re-join your friends over there and i’ll be going back to my friends over here. It’s been a joy though.
\nPYT: *looks horrified* Did you really think I was 30 when I came over?
\nMe: No. Probably not.<\/p>\n
And I kiss him and then go. I mean really. He was pretty and he smelled amazing (Johnsons Baby Powder maybe?) but I’m wasn’t interested in getting acquainted with his erection just yet and I don’t think I could sit through another evening of random drinks to get to the event some other time. I kissed someone pretty and roadtested my new nose. win-win. yay!<\/p>\n
I go back to my friends who all point and laugh in the expected fashion then we all get on with dancin’. About 10 minutes later, just as I’m really getting into air-drumming along to Seven Nation Army, PYT re-appears and sits down next to us. This is somewhat unexpected.
\nPYT: So, are you ready for that dance off yet?<\/p>\n
Oh yes. that dance-off that we sketchily talked about OVER AN HOUR AGO before deciding to part ways forever and ever. What is going on?<\/p>\n
Me: Ummmm. Not so much. what are you doing here? I thought we decided you were going overt here and I was going over here?
\nPYT: Did we decide that? <\/p>\n
Great, PYT is drunk and persistent.<\/p>\n
Me: Yes. yes we did. Unless you’ve unlocked the secret of time-travel?
\nPYT looks bemused.
\nMe: We decided that as I am 31 and you are 25 that we might as well just go our separate ways.
\nPYT: Yeah. You are 31. But you’re definitely good-looking enough for me to go out with you.<\/p>\n
Oh PYT… He definitely intended this as a compliment but honestly… <\/p>\n
Me: *dripping sarcasm* Wow, really? I, I feel so touched. That’s really amazing of you.<\/p>\n
PYT totally failed to notice sarcasm – a sure sign that even if he and I were born on the same day under the same star, we still weren’t ever going to make it as a couple.
\nPYT: No, really. You’re really hot. What if I was 28 or 29?
\nMe: Yeah, but you’re not. You’re 25
\nPYT: No, I’m 26. Genuinely, I’m 26.<\/p>\n
1) Dave always used to say”genuinely” before embarking upon a lie. he even mispronounced it in the same way as PYT so that it becomes a bastardisation of genuinely and generally and mysteriously takes on Us and Rs in weird places.
\n2) oh god. If he’s willing to lie about being 26, he probably lied about being 25 in the first place. Maybe he got in such a state about the boner because it was his first one ever???<\/p>\n
Me: Ok, well 10 minutes ago you were 25. So if you’re aging a year every ten minutes, come back in an hour and we can talk.
\nPYT: No, I really am 26.
\nMe: Even if you are suddenly 26, 26 is not 28 or 29, so this is a redundant conversation
\nPYT: No, but what if it was, would you go out with me then?
\nMe: Probably not to be honest. i think I’d want someone over 30
\nPYT: But what if I was 28 or 29? what then?
\nMe: This could go on forever. Potentially until you are 28 or 29. But no. Maybe one day when you’re 90 and I’m 95 then our shopmobility buggies will run into each other and we’ll have a moment, but not now
\nPYT: You just want some 30 year old with a 6 figure salary
\nMe: No, I want someone who wasn’t in nappies when I was in primary school
\nPYT: What if I had a 6 figure salary?<\/p>\n
This went on for a good 5 minutes. And these are edited highlights without the constant interruptions from very loud music that meant each of us had to repeat our sentences about 5 times. It was getting REALLY tedious.<\/p>\n
Me: I don’t really understand this? You said yourself that you weren’t interested in going out with a 31 year-old. I can’t get any younger, you can’t get any older, so we can’t ever be what the other would like us to be, so why are we still having this conversation??<\/p>\n
*penny drops*<\/p>\n
PYT is pretty. And possibly has his pick of the 25 year-olds. Because i am genuinely disinterested in him, he has now become Impossibly Intrigued and wants to win me over. It’s such a shame you can never fake this in times of need..<\/p>\n
PYT: Look, come home with me. I’ve got a guitar at home [I think: did Santa bring it for you?]. It’s a fender stratocaster. Do you know what one of those is?<\/p>\n
As it happens, I do. This is because I was reading the NME whilst he was getting to grips with joined-up writing.<\/p>\n
PYT: *animatedly* I could play you some John Mayer songs.<\/p>\n
Looking back, I don’t know if this was supposed to be some obscure older woman\/younger man reference but the only context I know John Mayer in is “that-guy-who’s-about-to-break-jennifer-aniston’s-heart again-and-she’s-not-getting-any-younger”<\/p>\n
Me: Ummm… I’m not sure John Mayer songs would really thrill me
\nPYT: What if I could make them exciting?
\nMe: Ummm… Doubtful<\/p>\n
He leans closer – no mean feat as we’re already lip-to-earlobe in an attempt to hear one another – and start SINGING IN MY EAR. I can only assume this was intended as a precursor to his heartfelt acoustic medley of John Mayer hits. Let’s just say I won’t be buying the album (because I’m from a generation that doesn’t instinctively call them CDs) any time soon.<\/p>\n
Enough is enough.<\/p>\n
Me: I really think it’s time for you to go now
\nPYT: I’d still really like to take you home<\/p>\n
[Brace yourselves. really. I feel icky even thinking about typing this. And I’ve watched grandma-faeces-porn for fun. I SWEAR this is what he said – I don’t think I could make this up if I tried]<\/p>\n
PYT: I mean, i don’t know whether I’d do anything really kinky with you, because I don’t know if that would excite you. But i’d definitely like to lick you out.<\/p>\n
Me: *uncontrollable, shaking laughter*<\/p>\n
I mean… I can still remember getting chatted up at 25. but it didn’t sound anything like this. 15, yes. 25, no. Even typing this I’m doubled over and cringing at the sheer wrongness of it all.<\/p>\n
PYT: *looking affronted* I don’t think you heard what I said, i said I’d like to lick…
\nMe: *waving hand and basically begging for mercy whilst still laughing* No, I heard…<\/p>\n
At this point, there was just no point continuing. It was too noisy to have any conversation, much less that one that I had no interested in continuing, my friends were more interesting, my coat had mysteriously gone missing, the reasons were stacking up.<\/p>\n
I kissed him and said “I’m going to find my coat. Oh and I don’t mean that like ‘I’ll get my coat, you’ve pulled’ I just need to find it. Then I’m going to come back here. By which time you should really be gone. Take care though”.<\/p>\n
And this time he got it.<\/p>\n
The irony is, I never actually found out his name. So the only way I’m ever going to know him is Mr Erection. Bless Mr Erection.<\/p>\n
Eventual moral: Hot guys find me irresistible when drunk. I need to start dousing Dave in meths.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
[this post is going to be a bit disjointed as I wanted to get it…<\/p>\n