It was accounting time, so I arranged to meet
my accountant for coffee. After an exhilarating meeting, a newfound enthusiasm
for sorting out my life, and a general under stated interest in the housing
market in Bristol, I wandered into the nearest estate agents.
It was a very friendly office, where more tea
was consumed and lots of chats were had about the area and how it had changed
over recent years. I can recommend the strategy if your at a loose end, and or
it’s raining outside. One agent came in who was very keen to give me his card,
but then disappeared to do a viewing. After a good sit down, finding out about
everyone’s previous jobs, relationships and where they all live, I thought I’d
ask what actual property was available. They had a modern style 1950’s house on
a quiet road just around the corner. Most definitely worth a look, so I drove
round.
The agent conducting the viewing was the same
person who had given me his business card. He came to the front door with
twinkly blue eyes, a glowing smile and even more radiant red hair: A happy
cheeky chappy. It was a family house, a comment I made as soon as walking
through the door. Searching for a bit of information about how to make a sale,
he asked if I was moving with a partner or boyfriend. I said no I’m single, but
I would potentially like to have children in the house I move to. He was
somewhat surprised and asked why I was single, to which my response was that it
is quite hard to someone at my age. He rather spontaneously said, “I’ll take
you out, do you want to go on a date.” I thought for just one moment and said
yes. He was really nervous. My attempts
to mask the energetic awkwardness included commenting on how I like a square
kitchen and how easy the access was to re-pressurise the boiler. Sexy talk.
There’s a bit of conversation… I now have had
a whistle stop tour of his CV and significant relationships before we check out
the bedrooms. I’m somewhat distracted whilst appreciating the double-glazing
and fixed wardrobe before we turn to each other. He asked if he could kiss me.
And there’s the lean in moment. He is very gentle and loving, and MASSIVELY
nervous. He’s doing the cute quivery thing, that’s vulnerable and hot all at
the same time. I like to think he was nervous because I’m such a goddess,
however I think it might have been more a result of knowing that it was
probably dismissible action and if any one knew, he would get a boll£cking at
the best. This was a consequence, which would be more likely if I were to take
offense. He apologised profusely, “I’ve never done that before”. I do think he
was genuine, and I had enjoyed it, so we arranged a date.
Before the date he checked the arrangements
so many times, he was starting to be less attractive. Lots of my schedule is
unpredictable, so I like to set a day and if it needs to change I’ll only know
on the day. Repeatedly asking me a week in advance is just annoying. We met
despite my reservations, and went to a very nice bar for pizza. He was really
enthusiastic but just would not turn off the hard sell. This was a bad case of
taking your work home. Over the evening I was given full CV including his GCSE
and A-level results, a family history of successful endeavours stipulating his
Grandpa (who he lives with) was in Mensa (in case I was checking genetic
prospects), and a carrot for future of, ‘house and kids’. It wasn’t ALL about
him. I could express myself during feedback opportunities, “Do you think I’m
nice looking?” and “One girl said I was the best looking ginger she’d ever met,
do you think that?” Does he want the answer ‘decidedly average’? My inner
thoughts were that he looked like a ginger version of my ex (or a grown up
version of my ex’s nephew) circa 2008-2013, with a similar set of insecurities,
and an annoying urge to prove himself. These insecurities where he had labelled
me ‘posh’ or ‘privileged’, and himself as ‘honest working class’, despite my
work being manual labour and his being in the service sector, meant he would be
irrationally jealous and dig a knife in if he wasn’t going to get his own way.
Yawn. The problem with being older is you’ve seen is before. Self-obsessed and
predictable, like the English male football team in a penalty shoot out, this
wasn’t a combo to get behind.
He asked some of the normal questions you
might on date, but by the end of every sentence had interjected. The words “I’m
not going answer that question because you’ve cut me off three times,” came out
loud from my mouth. Needless to say this date had not gone where I might have
hoped. I drove him home (to his Grandpas).
A week later he called me from his work under
the guise of checking about mortgage appointments. Knowing that I am 35 and
want children, he completely unprompted stated that he would need to live with
a partner for 5 years in order to settle down and start a family. He knows my
timeline will need to be more fast-track if kids are on the agenda. Was this
his best attempt at a knife? The little word, grace, came to mind, “Thank you,
spoken from the perspective of a male who has just turned 30, is that all?” And
thus, the call was terminated.
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