I know, I know what I did was awful, but c’mon seriously could you blame me?

This date was arranged in anger. I had been texting some asshole back and forth for two weeks and we had arranged to meet that night. I had fake tanned, and shaved, and glammed myself to within an inch of my life when, an hour before we were due to meet, he cancelled via text. No apology, no explanation and no rearrangement, just ‘Can’t make it tonight, something has come up, peace’.

I was so pissed off as I drove home I jumped onto Tinder at a traffic light and messaged 10 ‘matches’ asking if they were free tonight for a drink. To my surprise and delight by the time I had gotten home one had replied saying ‘Sure, I work till 10pm though, is this too late?’. It kinda was in fairness but I pulled a cork off a bottle of white wine, lit a cigarette and texted back saying ‘Nope, perfect, see you in ‘A Random Bar’ at 10.15pm’. I was damned if I was gonna let this perfectly applied fake tan go to waste

By the time I arrived I was fairly merry having polished off my wine. I scanned the room optimistically looking for the hunky Spanish’y looking guy who, from the three pictures I had seen and the two sentence conversation we had had was to be my potential new boyfriend/lover/date.

I saw an extremely short, spiky haired manchild smile at me manically from one of the seats outside. I ignored him, and continued to search for my tanned, tall, brown eyed would be suitor. At least I think he is tall, you couldn’t really tell from his pics, and actually two of the pics were black and white so I don’t know if he was tanned, I mean I literally looked at his pics for two secs at a traffic light, he could be anyone. As I fished the phone out of my bag to study his image more closely the man child appeared in front of me. ‘Eh, is Ariana, yes?’ Fuckity, fuck fuck. 

‘Yes hi, oh sorry I didn’t, eh, recognise you?’ 

‘Oh ha,  ha, ha, yes ha ha, tinder, yes, you like drink?’ he was cupping his hands together and half bowing to me with every ‘ha’.

‘Oh yes, thanks, sorry, where are you from?’

‘I from Turkmenistan’ he said humbly

‘Ohh’ I said in a voice so high-pitched only dogs could hear me. ‘Um I’ll have a beer please’ I said as he looked at me expectantly with one foot towards the bar. I don’t even drink beer. I don’t know why I ordered it. I panicked, evidently. 

Moments later he returned and sat opposite,  looking at me, smiling. 

‘Sooo, um, how long have you lived here?’ I asked after the staring became uncomfortable.

‘I here five years now’

‘Oh ok and what to you do?’

‘I work in chip shop, ha ha, I peel the, how you say, spuds, ha ha’

‘Oh great, and where do you live?’

‘I live upstairs chip shop’

‘Oh, cool, and do you go home often to Turkmenistan?’

‘No No, I can not leave Ireland, I have not seen my family now for many years?’

‘Oh why can’t you leave?’

‘I here illegally, ha ha, I need visa, ha ha, you be my wife for visa, ha ha’

I gulped on my beer. My turn to reply *cue nervous laughter.

‘Oh, um, ha ha, no I don’t think so’

‘I make good husband’ he said cupping his hands and bowing again, his sad eyes begging.

‘Actually, um, I just need to go to the toilet I’ll be back in a minute’ I said, lying.

I walked slowly into the bar and then picked up pace as I headed to the door and then I ran, nay sprinted down the road and into a passing taxi, abandoning the poor fella. I have never done that before. I just couldn’t even have the awkward I’m sorry this isn’t going to work conversation. It would have been akin to kicking a Labrador in the face. So instead I abandoned it.

Not my finest hour.