Wednesday, 16 November 2011
There’s an unwritten rule that at a wedding, the best man has the choice of the bridesmaids. Well, in this instance I wasn’t a bridesmaid and the best man was married. It had also been made very clear to me by my bride-to-be friend that there would be no eligible single men attending. It would appear that the odds were stacked against me, this was not going to be a wedding which would result in a drunken snog, let alone anything else.
The wedding reception was held a week after the hen night and as I walked into the little country hall I suddenly felt like the pressure had been lifted. As I wasn’t out to impress a potential lumber I could just let myself go (read – get absolutely shit faced) and have a good time. I wouldn’t cry into my glass of Champagne that I was the only single person there, that I was always the only single person, no, I would embrace the fact that no-one could tell me that I’d had too much to drink or that I was dancing provocatively.
It wasn’t long after I’d experienced this epiphany, that I suddenly noticed there was a guy looking over at me. My newly wedded friend came over to me and having originally pre-warned me that there would be no single men, pointed out two potential suitors, one of which happened to be the guy I had caught looking over at me.
I gave him the once over. The first thing I noticed was that he was short. Although I was wearing extremely high heels I still got the impression that even without those he’d be shorter than me. He was dressed in a kilt so it was difficult to tell what his dress sense was like or if he had any at all! But wait a minute – wasn’t this all a little shallow? Let’s face it, it had been a while and I really wasn’t in the position to be so judgemental without speaking to the guy first. The second guy looked in his mid 40s at least. He was wearing a red gingham shirt, tucked into jeans and a pair of brown suede brogues. He was the divorced husband of newly wedded friend’s cousin.
Comparing the two of them, there really was no competition. There was no competition because neither of them had made any initial impact on me. However, as I gave Mr Divorcee another appraisal, he looked like he might have the potential to be quite quirky. I decided to ask him for the next dance.

This is one of the advantages of being a guest at a proper Scottish wedding. Scottish country dancing allows you to get your hands on any bloke. However, I quickly regretted my decision. Mr Divorcee not only had two left feet, but he lacked any social skills whatsoever. I was relieved that the dance was fairly short lived and immediately quaffed another glass of Champagne to prevent any memory forming. That left Mr Shorty.
As it turned out Mr Shorty ended up dancing with me inadvertently and he was definitely an improvement on Mr Divorcee. I'm not sure whether it was the combination of the whirling around on the dance floor and the Champagne bubbles but suddenly Mr Shorty was looking more and more appealing. Not only that, but because I had removed my heels and put flat shoes on, he didn't seem so short. As the hall heated up I headed outside to cool down with Mr Shorty who was taking a cigarette break. The minute I stepped outside and the fresh air hit me, the effect of the many glasses of Champange I'd drunk suddenly took hold and my inner animal was unleashed. Before Mr Shorty had a chance to put his cigarette in his mouth, let alone light it, I had him pinned up against the wall at the back of the village hall and had locked lips. He seemed keen to particpate, in fact so keen I had to prevent him from moving onto 2nd, 3rd and almost 4th base!
In my very drunken eyes, this seemed to be going particularly well, in fact maybe this was the turning point for me. Perhaps Mr Shorty would win me over so much that my discrimination against short men would evaporate into thin air?
Of course, had I not drunk so much, I can pretty much guarantee I would have ignored that thought and I wouldn't have done the following:

  1. Ventured through the countryside in the pitch black night with Mr Shorty trying to navigate a route back to my newly wedded friends' house instead of my friend Julie's house where I was meant to be staying with my father.
  2. Tried to jump over a barbed wire fence not once but twice in my gorgeous Monsoon dress which resulted in falling down a ditch and losing one of my shoes. 
  3. Asking Mr Shorty to join me on an inflatable mattress that I was going to be sleeping on that night and finally,
  4. When asking Mr Shorty if he had "anything" with him and he responded, "it's ok, I've had the snip and last time I had a test it was negative", I really wish, I'd come to my senses and made a stagger for the hills.

To say it was awkward in the morning would have been an understatement.  Flashbacks began as I tried to piece together the evening that had preceeded the very hungover morning.  Mr Shorty sat directly opposite me in the living area, while the newlyweds provided cups of much needed tea and coffee.  I found myself trying to figure out how I felt.  Looking at him, he definitely wasn't my type but it had been pretty exciting the night before, or was that just the alcohol clouding my judgement?  Either way, I felt extremely uncomfortable and just wanted to get away from the situation.  I said my goodbyes and my newly wedded friend drove me back to my friend Julie's to pick up my stuff and get cleaned up.  I hadn't realised that the fall into the ditch had resulted in a number of scratches and scrapes to my arms and legs.  Well, at least I didn't have to do the walk of shame.

When I got home that evening and for the rest of the week I found myself feeling very guilty about the way I had brushed Mr Shorty off.  I suddenly realised that I didn't even know his name.  I decided to text my newly wedded friend and ask for his number.  I wasn't sure I was doing the right thing but I felt that I had to apologise for my behaviour. I pressed the send button and waited anxiously.  I waited a little more.....and then a little more.  In fact as I waited, I realised suddenly that I was thinking about Mr Shorty more and more.  Talk about playing it cool, after 3 days of waiting, he finally replied and the wait was very much worth it.  He had responded in such a humourous and articulate way that I found myself beginning to consider seeing him again, having previously ruled it out.  Amazing the impact of a well written text.

When I discussed this with newly wedded friend, she was somewhat surprised as she too didn't think he was my type but I explained that I felt there was something quite intriguing about him and certainly a lot more depth to him than I had originally thought.  As the texting continued throughout the following week, his potential as a future date became more likely but first I had to get Glastonbury Festival out of the way.




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Bird on a Wire
Imagine Carrie from Sex and the City morphed with Bridget Jones and a baby thrown in for added entertainment – that’s me, the ever optimistic romantic looking for my Mr Big but already with child! Read my blog from the beginning where I find out I am pregnant following a brief fling with my much older male colleague and fast forward to where I am now, stressed out working mum to my beautiful 10 year old daughter wondering if love really does in fact exist at first sight.
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