Saturday, 28 January 2012
So there I was, getting ready for my date with Mr Shorty, wishing that I was going out with Mr Mensa instead. 

I walked into the restaurant where I was meeting Mr Shorty and quickly scanned around to see where he was seated.  Oh, nowhere.  The waiter came up to me and asked if I was looking for a table, I gave him my surname (I'd booked the restaurant - warning sign number 1?) and he duly took me to my seat.  I checked my phone and there was a text.

"Running late, be there in 5 minutes"

The text was sent over 5 minutes ago and there was still no sign of him.  Fifteen minutes later (warning sign number 2?) and Mr Shorty walked through the restaurant door.  I saw him before he saw me and I knew instantly that there was no attraction.

He seemed extremely nervous and I began to find it really difficult to hold a decent conversation with him.  I ordered another glass of red wine, this was going to be a long night.  I should have really ended the date there, but I didn't.

We moved onto a couple of bars after the meal, ending up in a pub that I tend to favour when I want to have a good dance.

I must have been very, very drunk at that wedding because when I got on the dance floor I certainly didn't remember Mr Shorty dancing like an extra band member of New Kids on the Block.  By this point I'd moved onto the Vodka Tonics to get me through the night.  Again, why didn't I just end the date there?  I seem to be a glutton for punishment or have some kind of delusional faith when it comes to dates that are perhaps not quite going the way I'd like them to.

In a bid to get a break from Mr Shorty's flailing arms and legs, I went to the toilet.  I didn't need the toilet but I did need a breather to gather my thought and think about the next plan of action.  What I hadn't intended part of my plan to be was to find myself sending Mr Mensa a Facebook message asking him to take me out the following weekend when he was up.  I think it was at that point I realised that I had to bring the evening to an end.

I went back out to face the music, literally and to tell Mr Shorty that we should just end the night. 

I think Mr Shorty must have sensed I wasn't interested as out of the blue he turned round to me and said "I think I'm too vulnerable for you". This was a very unexpected statement and one that I'd never heard before in all my years of dating. Mr Shorty went on to explain that he knew I would end up breaking his heart and that tonight he had realised that he was still trying to get over the break-up from his ex partner and mother of his 3 children.  I appreciated his honesty but really this was a first date and to me it appeared that he had put an awful lot of pressure on himself and his expectations of the night, even by my standards (warning sign number 3?).

As we got outside it suddenly dawned on me that Mr Shorty had been drinking all evening and he lived over 2 hours drive away.  I presumed that he had arranged a hotel for himself, I should have checked this presumption.

Upon approaching the taxi rank, Mr Shorty turned to me and said "where are we getting a taxi to?"

I explained that I was getting a taxi home and asked him what his plans were.  He explained that he'd taken a sleeping bag with him but it was in his car that he'd parked on the other side of town.  Like the softy I am, I said that he could come back and stay at mine and borrow one of my sleeping bags.  I suspect that I was feeling sorry for him at this point and my motherly instinct had set in. 

I made him a coffee when we got back to mine and we chatted for a bit.  I felt in a way that I was giving him counselling and it became apparent that he was very far away from being ready to date.  Mr Shorty asked what I was looking for in a partner and I explained that I needed someone strong, someone who could take control now and again.  I basically explained that I was a traditional kind of girl, I wanted someone who would take care of me, who would love me and support me.  I wanted a soul mate.

Mr Shorty then stated that he got the impression someone else was on my mind.  I wondered if he'd picked up on the flirty comment on Mr Mensa's Facebook page and put two and two together.  I'm not sure why, but I didn't answer him either way and instead suggested that I get his sleeping bag as I needed to get to bed.

He said that he wanted to share my bed, that he didn't want to sleep alone.  And yes, you've guessed it, I said he could but nothing would be happening.

As I got changed into my pyjamas, I looked round to see Mr Shorty standing donning a pair of Superman boxer shorts.  I'd suddenly recalled saying to him in a text message ages ago when we were arranging the date that he'd better be wearing his lucky pants.  It was a joke and in fact I think it's a line I use regularly if I'm going out on a date, it won't be a line I use again.

He'd seen the pictures of me dressed up as Supergirl at Glastonbury and decided to be my Superman, tragically he was anything but that.

As we got into bed, around 3 am, it was clear he was still optimitic about getting a bit of "how's your father" but I made it quite clear that it would not be a good idea.  And ridiculously, in a bid to ease the rejection I asked him if he wanted a cuddle.

So there I was, lying in my bed, cuddling a grown man and effectively being his mum, telling him everything would be ok.

I woke up around 8.30 am on my own.  I suspected that he may have got up and gone down to sleep on the couch in the living room, so I ventured downstairs.

No sign of him.  I checked Evie's room on the offchance that he may have gone in there.  Nothing.  I ventured back down stairs again and realised that the front door had not only not been left unlocked, it hadn't been closed properly.  By this point I was getting really concerned for Mr Shorty.  He didn't know the town that I lived in, where had he gone?  He surely didn't go to get his car, he would have been over the limit.

I checked my phone, 2 texts.

The first was apologising for leaving, that he'd felt pathetic and that he wished me the best.  He finished the text with a Lord Byron quote.

I was increasingly concerend about his mental state at this point as I began to open his second text.  It was sent just 20 minutes before I got up stating that he'd walked around the town for 2 hours to sober up before driving home, that he'd arrived back safely and he hoped I was ok.

By this point I was actually very annoyed.  I was annoyed that he'd put me at risk by leaving my house unlocked.  I was annoyed that he'd put himself at risk by walking around a town that he did not know in a drunken state and I was also of the opinion that even walking around for two hours would not have meant that he was safe to drive.  But then I began to feel sorry for him.  Here was a man who could not move forward, who was still, in my opinion, in love with his ex partner and desperately missing his children.  He was right, he was vulnerable.  But he was also right about something else, someone else was on my mind and as the memory of sending Mr Mensa a Facebook message floated back into my head, I wondered if I'd just opened a brand new can of worms...



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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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