Mr Nice Guy - Part 1

“I feel bad for you. You’re such a lovely guy and yet you don’t seem to get the girls you want. You’re too nice, that’s your problem. You’re too concerned about not being a dick, that you over compensate.” I wasn’t sure how to take this verbal spanking from G2. She’s talking after reading the 3 part blog I wrote a few months ago, and she has a point. “You should have been out of her place at the crack of dawn!” I couldn’t disagree. I liked the girl though, and in my enthusiasm, I had naively assumed that we’d lie in bed together before going for breakfast somewhere.

That was then though and this is now. On a whim, and the suggestion of a friend, I have signed up to an online dating site and over the next couple of days I have dates lined up with four girls.

It’s a Friday night and for once I arrive on time at the venue for date one. So used are people to my lateness, that G2 has even texted me to ensure that I am punctual. My natural instincts tell me to walk around the block, which I do, just in time to receive a text from the girl saying that she is running late.

I order a Vodka and Tonic at the bar and wait, and as I wait, I realise that I can’t remember what she looks like. A tall brunette walks through the door. ‘Close, but I think I’d remember if it was that one.’ A few minutes later though and I get a tap on the shoulder. “Hiii...” she says as I turn around and I recognise her from her pictures, although she seems less attractive and shorter than I’d imagined. She’s also wearing thick rimmed glasses. “Sorry about the glasses”, she says “I’ve got an eye infection and I’m not allowed to wear my lenses”. “That’s alright,” I smile “they look quite cute”. The glasses do nothing for her and she knows it, and so if I can make her feel a bit better about them and be a bit charming in the process then so much the better. She smiles “Aww thanks”.

“Have you been waiting long?” she asks. ‘Yes, twenty fucking minutes’ “Only about 10 minutes” I say. “Would you like a drink? I ask with my glass in hand. “Just a diet coke thanks.” There is an awkward silence as I wait to get served. Eventually I hand her the diet coke. She asks me what I do and where I’m from and then goes into a fifteen minute monologue about what she does and how she doesn’t enjoy her job. We order more drinks, which we finish after more conversation, just as she asks “Shall we get something to eat?” I already know that this girl isn’t what I was hoping for. She speaks about herself in a flat monotone, without asking questions and I can’t get excited about her or see it going anywhere. I should say no. I should say I have somewhere to be or that it’s been a long day and I’m tired. But it’s Friday night and I don’t have plans and the thought of going home to watch crap television doesn’t fill me with joy. But for some reason, it feels like it would be rude to bale out at 9.30pm on a Friday night. Plus I haven’t eaten much, in the expectation that this might go well and we’d go somewhere for something to eat. The fact that she’s dull as a turnip has done nothing to take away my hunger pangs. “Ok sure” I say.

We pop to a local Wagamama after she has said that she doesn’t want to spend much money. “So what do you reckon to this internet dating lark then?” she says as she munches on some noodles. “It’s ok, I’m quite new to it actually” I say before ordering another drink. “I’ve got another one tomorrow” she says. ‘Yeah – well I’ve got two!’ “Good for you” I say. We finally finish and head towards Hungerford Bridge where we are to part. “Well, it’s been nice to meet you” she says “Likewise, good luck on your date tomorrow.” I say genuinely before heading to the tube so I can dissect the evening on the way home.

The next morning I get a call from G2 to ask how it went, and so I tell her. “So she was dull and you didn’t like her and yet you still went out for dinner?” she says. “What is wrong with you??” “Well I didn’t have any other Friday night plans and I was hungry” I protest. “No, that’s an excuse. What did I say about you being too nice? This was a first date and so you should have been in and out of there – two hours max!” “Okay okay” I say with an air of resignation. “So when’s your next one?” she asks. “In about...” I look at my watch “Shit! 45 minutes I’m late...”