So I know that we’re now 8 columns in and you’re all probably thinking I’m a desperate bitch.
Well jokes on you, because I can actually give you occasions where I wasn’t…
It’s actually a well known fact amongst my friends that I struggle to talk to a guy that I find attractive- big time. So if we’ve chatted and had the craic, you ugly. I’m the worst at texting. It’s just not in my DNA. This is down to the fact I always panic a guy will just think I’m f***ing odd and not get that I’m joking so I become the most basic girl in Dublin.
You see when I don’t care, my chat is a disaster because I make jokes that only I find funny, but when I do care.. When I do care, I come out with boring things like ‘Yeah lol I love cheese’.
The other day my friend experienced, for the first time, my utter fear and panic and writing back to the most basic of texts. ‘I don’t know how you’ve ever gotten a guy?’. Me neither, Laura. Me neither.
We have a running joke in our group how once I text a guy and he wrote back to me inhumanely quick, and I screamed ‘LEAVE ME ALONE’ and threw my phone. I mean, I text him. What did I think was going happen?
When it comes to texting, sometimes, I’m so scared I’ll look like an absolute tick if I’m cracking jokes, that I go down a different route where I, you guessed it, make myself look like an even bigger tick. Life. I am very aware that my chat is very much a reflection of their chat, but it’s only when I look back on the situation that I realise it. Take this guy for example. Total BORE.
A while back I was out in a club with all of my friends. I honestly do not know what came over me, but I saw a guy and just decided there and then, that I was going back to his. So I went up to him and literally said ‘right, grab your coat’. I couldn’t even tell you if he even had a coat to grab, or if I just thought that I sounded fab (which I obviously didn’t). I said bye to my friends and off we went to get a taxi. Like, I’m insane.
So we head outside, he hails a taxi and gets in, and then I went to get in the taxi. Now, I don’t know was it the fresh air hitting me, or the fact that I had gone 5 minutes without taking a sip of a drink, but I realised I did NOT want to get in that taxi. And so I didn’t.
I literally let him sit in the taxi and then I peeked my head in the door and said ‘Actually, em, I’m going back in’ and I slammed the door and hit the roof of the taxi like I was a dad saying bye to a relative travelling back down the country.
I didn’t even look back, but I always imagine that him and the taxi driver just sat there in silence not knowing what to do. I wonder if he just went home, stopping in the local McDonalds for company. At least I got him home safe. I mean, I think. I looked up the taxi number later that night and it wasn’t registered, but I’m hopeful.
Around two years ago I was in Coppers with my friend. She ended up pulling a guy who happened to have a dashing young friend who we’ll call Tom. The minute I spoke to Tom, I thought he was great because of his English accent. I was so interested. Who is this exotic man? What was he doing in Coppers? Did he know anyone from TOWIE? Things were on the up. So we went back to one of the guys houses for an afterparty and Tom came along.
Now as good looking as Tom was I just wasn’t into it- his accent was the only thing that kept me engaged. But Tom was keen. At the house party he made sure he sat beside me at all times. If I got a drink, Tom got a drink. If I went for a smoke, Tom went for a smoke. If I got sick, Tom got sick. I decided it was time to go home, so I ordered a taxi and told the guys I was calling it a night. It’s tiresome being so wanted and thankfully I’ve never ever had to experience that again.
Tom was going back into the city and without wanting to leave him totally in the lurch, I let him share with me. When we got to my house he was very keen on the idea of me going back to his hotel. I was adamant I was not. So much so that I left the taxi with one shoe on. Modern day Cinderella over here. (I still think about that shoe…)
It turns out though, that Tom was in fact not from England at all. In fact, Tom was from Cork, and put on his accent as a joke. He underestimated my high volume of alcohol intake mixed with the high volume of music and got stuck in a web of lies for the night. He was a grafter, I’ll give him that. But, I did my usual ritual, tapped the roof of the car, and away he went into the night.
So what have I learnt about sticking to my guns and saying no when I want?
Wasting a guys time is fun because they do it to me all the time
If you don’t want a text back, don’t send the text to begin with
Don’t spend €50 on shoes in River Island, because you’ll lose the right one in a taxi
Even if a guy shows you his British passport, I guarantee ya, you’re drunk and he’s from Cork.
Tipping the roof of a car is the new way to bid farewell and isn’t obnoxious at all
Next week on Single In The City- Why I Scored My Cousin