Hot Stuff.

Before I even write this, I’m angry. The Full Monty was the shittest online dating experience I’ve ever had. Maybe I’m bitter that she clearly didn’t like me. But it’s not that. It’s something else. Judge for yourself, this is an untarnished honest account.

We’d begun messaging, then texting, it was going well. As well as could be expected. One evening, I don’t recall why, I drunk called her. She didn’t answer but it was quite, quite late. The next day I sent her a text saying something along the lines of “I’m really sorry for calling, dearest. I’d been celebrating and I wasn’t thinking straight.” Her response was “Dearest? What the fuck are you calling me dearest for? Bit early isn’t it?”. I guess she was right, but I then had to articulate that dearest wasn’t meant literally and I wasn’t trying to tell her she was the most important person in my life. Chill out, I was just trying to be friendly. It wasn’t like I’d called her ‘love’ or ‘baby’ or ‘sugartits’.

My idol. Obviously. He knows how to express his love.

My idol. Obviously. He knows how to express his love.


She might have had a point, you know. Anyway, this didn’t stop us meeting.

On the day we were due to meet, I was excited. Turns out she was an usher at a local theatre and asked me if I’d like to go as she had free tickets. For what? Well, The Full Monty stage play obviously. When she asked if I’d like to go, I actually used the word ‘honoured’. We continued texting, speaking about where we were going to meet, and I said if she didn’t recognise me, look for the guy in the suit. She didn’t like that. “What, like a suit and tie? Oh God. That’s already lost you points.” She wasn’t joking either. This was serious.

I should have seen this coming.

I got to the pub early. We only had 30 minutes before having to go to the theatre so I had a quick pint before she arrived. She’d already explained she’d been dashing around and was tired. It all went wrong immediately.

When she arrived, I was stood at the bar. It was virtually empty. As she walked in, I looked over to her, turned towards her, and raised my arm slightly to demonstrate it was me. She carried on walking. Nearly straight past me. When I stepped over to stop her and say “Hey”, this look washed over her face. A look of utter disappointment. A look of total apathy and exhaustion. A look of complete dejection. I asked her if she wanted a drink and she said “Urgh…..yes….okay. Coke please.” She turned to find a seat, and anyone looking at me at the time would have seen me mouth the words “Oh my fucking God” as I prepared for an awful experience. Once her coke had arrived, my legs moved heavily towards the table.

No joke, this was her face approximately ALL OF THE TIME.

No joke, this was her face approximately ALL OF THE TIME.


How would I describe the conversation? Like trying to run a marathon you don’t want to run while chain smoking cigars you don’t want to smoke. I almost immediately felt uneasy and that I did not want to be there, and I’m sure the feeling was mutual. After 25 minutes of awkward conversation, I couldn’t wait to see some cock, so we headed over to the theatre. What I wasn’t told, is that every single other one of her colleagues would be there too. Everyone who didn’t have a shift that night was sat with us, in the same row. Just thinking about it now makes me want to get up and go. I very nearly did, however I just went to smoke two cigarettes outside before the show started. When I returned, she deliberately talked really loudly to her colleague next to her, rubbing it in. “Oh my God, is someone smoking INSIDE the theatre? It seriously smells like an ashtray inside here. I’m surprised the fire alarms haven’t gone off. God it’s SO bad.”

My face.

My face.


The show went on, and during the interval we spoke breifly. I couldn’t really hear her that well as the theatre was full of rowdy middle aged women, but at one stage I thought I saw what was a glimpse of a flirtatious smile on her face. And it was nice. But it went as quickly as it came, and the rest of my evening was spent wondering whether or not we’d see actual penises on stage. We didn’t.

Shortly before leaving I thought we might be able to get a pint or two, post-show, to scrape some modicum of decency from our evening. We queued to get out as the place was packed, and as soon as we reached the exit she turned around and told me her Dad was driving to pick her up from that very spot. “Okay” I said, smiled, and walked away.



But this is what I saw in my head.

We never met again. We never even text one another again. I’m fairly certain I deleted her number that very evening for fear of saying something I’d regret. I mean, okay, so maybe I wasn’t her type. Maybe I’d already pissed her off. Maybe the smoking thing was a real negative for her. But even before that, she was a total dick. Like, a total dick. The girl was a dick. I’m sorry. End of. Dick.