A blind date

Reading Time: 3 minutesToday provided one of the most side splitting giggles I ever had in my day job, it’s all a shame really because I can’t tell you anything. What I do is secret. I can’t tell you, but I can hint. Shit, no I can’t, I’ve  just contained myself as I realised that it will come back to haunt me and the job if I do. I’ll forget that fun and regale you with another major character building moment, it was a blind date.

It was a date from that place that atheists don’t believe in, hell. The deal was, that a close mate had his evil “single minded” eyes on a beautiful and sensible young lady, with a figure to cause you to write to the figure department, praising them on their work. Her eyes were that good they belonged in a jar.

Schemes

This plan was one of these “early day” schemes and it was decided, not by me I might say, I was dragged kicking and screaming, into a double date, mine blind, his eyes wide open. His was worthy of having your eyes open for, while mine dear reader was slightly different.

This vision of ugliness that I was about to encounter, was a so called room mate of the Miss Loveliness in a convent style, young girls version of the YMCA, but with a tremendously strong religious overtone. In fact no overtone really, it was dripping off the walls.

You walked into to a tiled toilet like vestibule, I’m told that’s what they’re called and you are compromised in your improper intentions by a 12 foot, blood wound damaged full colour statue of Jesus and he was staring at me, eyes following me as I walked around the echo laden toilet room.

Well, this frightening welcome was only a delicate precursor to the main event, I mean shit it was main alright, it was so freak’n main it was life changing. The doors of the elevator, I don’t know how many floors up or down the thing went, but I thought that maybe the striking beauty came from above, while my gargoyle of a partner came from below.

No Photos

The trouble with writing this down, is the fact that I don’t have any photos, have you seen “Throw Momma from the train”, well momma, if you think that, but only 180 kilos heavier, with extreme stunt makeup, her hair a bushel of prickles and her skin the poster child for the pro active ads before shots.

Now less you think I’m very cruel, I can’t possibly find enough words in the English language to describe just how horrific this entry, first meeting and would you believe cheek kiss was, it was such a shock even I was speechless. As we walked outside I was following along behind looking at this slab of womanhood that was so dominating the footpath, she actually pushed the three of us off into the road as we headed to the pub, so we all ended up dragging our carcasses along in the trail of this vision of blind dates.

By the way, my mate and his “suddenly new” girlfriend were smirking at me big time while enjoying my psychical reaction.  So dear reader, where had the girls decided to go, only to my favourite pub, where I knew everybody while trying to be extra friendly with most. An adequately active single man. Of course my level of terror increased no end, when I discovered our destination. How could I live this down, walking in with my new date into my own comfortable relaxation area.

History

When we decided to find a table at the back, in the dark, we were harangued by the ever so friendly young lady who regaled us with lurid tales of her fighting, arrests and public drunkenness. We all laughed of course but it was like going out with your grandmother’s best friend and learning about her indiscretions, although my grandmother looked nothing like this failed pavlova disaster, with or without fruit.

So, what happened I hear you moan, as we get to the end, well you deviate, nothing. We had the earliest night we’d ever had in our life, walked the dates home to the Nuns and their gratuitous figurines, paintings and squeaky tiles and then escaped to another pub to talk about this titillating evening. It was so titillating we were both tittered out, oh and by the way, my blind date could be found in the dark at that back table, as she smelt of old cabbage and after shave, a more romantic mix I’ve never smelt before or since. Thank goodness and no, we never saw her again.

Alan Crawford

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I'm an increasingly grumpy old fart posting rants, observations and trying to write somewhat twisted short and slightly longer stories for adults. All rights reserved unless otherwise credited © Alan Crawford - 2024

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