Post Eight: Unknown Waters

Welcome dear reader, and a very happy Fathers Day if you happen to be father. And happy Sunday Afternoon to the rest of you.

So, we last parted ways after another successful date with Emily, whom I had really started to like. Date three was a bit more casual, a trip to the cinema (we saw The Men Who Stare At Goats, with George Clooney, Kevin Spacey and Ewan McGregor).

The film was good, and Emily and I were enjoying each other’s company, and definitely very interested in each other. If you remember back to the first post, I’d mentioned that part of the problem of me not being successful with ladyfolk was simply because I didn’t like any of the girls I saw regularly in a romantic way. With Emily, I had broken that cycle; I was unkown territory and loving every minute of it.

Like the others, Date Three passed by all too quickly, so we arranged our next rendezvous straight afterwards, a trip to a comedy club.

As is fast becoming tradition, we had a great time.

We ended up standing at the back wall, which is a shame because I like to sit right at the front and get picked on, thereby becoming part of the show. And, y’know, anything for a laugh.

The acts were all brilliant, and the laughter and alcohol flowed all night.

In the bar afterwards, we talked and drank some more. We both acknowledged that Things Were Progressing Well.

‘Except for one little faux pas…’ she said.

Eh? That didn’t sound too good. I started to panic. What had I done? Did I have lasagne all over my shirt after our meal? Did I slurp my juice at the cinema? Did I even have juice in the cinema?

I had to find out.

‘Oh right,’ I said, the words trembling. ‘Uh, what was that then?’

She laughed a little and said, ‘Before our meal on our second date, you suggested going to Kelvingrove Park afterwards.’

‘Well, it was Bonfire night. I thought, y’know, it would be all romantic.’

I wracked my brain and didn’t remember her telling me that she is an avid anti-firework campaigner or a subscriber to www.letsnevergotoaparkafterameal.com.

Then she politely informed me that Kelvingrove Park is a popular meeting place for gay men.

Super. I’ve lived in Glasgow my whole life and didn’t know that.

To say I was embarrassed would be an understatement. Imagine it: you’re a girl on your second date with some bloke you met from the internet and he suggests going to a well-known proving ground for gay men.

Hey Emily, after dinner let’s go to the park and meet all the boys!

I still get the shivers thinking about it. I’m very lucky that she didn’t run out the door then and there.

But hey – every day’s a school day, and that’s a lesson I won’t be forgetting in a hurry.

Anyway, the night progressed and she got a little tipsy so I drank double measures (her suggestion) to catch up and, as always, the night ended in a flash.

‘I guess we should call it a night,’ I said. ‘Let’s get a taxi?’

Which was a good suggestion, even though it was pissing with rain. I had her umbrella and, well… I took the opportunity to kiss her again. Properly, this time. It lingered and everything. In the rain. I’ve heard that’s romantic. Does it still count if you have an umbrella?

‘I was wondering when you were gonna do that,’ she said with a smile.

‘Why? I kissed you on the second date,’ I said, because I had.

‘Yeah, but that was half-assed.’

And we laughed. And kissed some more. Which was very, very nice.

We eventually found a taxi, although I was quite happy where I was.

Before Emily got out, she said ‘I’ll sort the next date out since you’ve organised everything so far.’

‘Sounds like a plan,’ I said. ‘What would be up for doing?’

After a moment she said ‘Let’s go bowling!’

And a week later, we did. We played two games, both of which she won. Then we played air hockey and a couple of arcade games which I hadn’t done in years.

I can't remember who won at air hockey, so let's just assume it was me.

Then we went to George Square, in Glasgow's city centre, to see the newly assembled Christmas lights.

Then shortly after that, we went to see a band that she mentioned she liked, back when we first met. It turned out it was a band called Mr. Kil, who I happen to be acquainted with (I know the wife of their keyboard player. She is lovely. She is also reading this. Hello Deb).

Our relationship seemed to strengthen the more we saw each other; I was having so much fun with her, and I was genuinely thankful that I’d taken the plunge with online dating. This was all new to me as this relationship was better than any previous one I had.

She was amazing, and things were going much better than I dared imagine. So much so, in fact, you’d be forgiven for thinking that this is a work of fiction.

But this isn’t fiction; this is real life.

And in real life things don’t always go the way you want.