My First Encounter of Swingers

Hello and Welcome to my horrendous life.

Today I am here to tell you all about my first ever date.

But Devs, didn’t you have a boyfriend?

Yes.

Surely he took you on a date?

No, he asked me out at a bus stop when we were sixteen, before we had even kissed.

Deal with it. This is my first date okay!

Don’t judge me, I went on Tinder. It started as a joke. Haha girls, look at this one, he looks like Alex Gasgarth and his bio says he likes cake. Marry me.

Then when I got drunk it was game I liked to play, and I had a lotof surprises in the morning. Devs you have 100 matches on Tinder…start a chat.

After months of saying it was a joke, I have come to embrace my new life, and I’ve even started talking back to these boys. Maybe that’s where I’ve gone wrong…

In recent months, I have perfected my Tinder Bio:

I’m looking for someone to get chicken with and make me laugh, anything else is a bonus.

5ft 3 because heights important here 🙄😂

As you can see, full of banter like me. In came the onslaught of chicken and height jokes, I was in my element.

This is when, for the purposes of the blog, my friends and his dignity, Chicken Boy (CB) entered into my messages.

CB asked me what my favourite food was and it went from there, after two weeks of solid chat, including him saying that he was a fan of the High School Musical films (#goals), he asked me out on a date.

Say what?! Someone has actually asked me on a date! What is life? I know it’s very shocking. It happened. I accepted. My friend Josie suggested going to Swingers, a mini golf course within the mist of the Gherkin in London. CB and I agreed to go, he said he would book and we put it in the diary.

DATE DAY. It had actually arrived. Today was the day, I was going to meet CB for the first time. Josie agreed to meet me before to help me find the venue, and to have a little something for Dutch courage. On our long long walk from Cannon Street Station, I got a text from CB to say he would be running late. I wasn’t too fussed, I was quite nervous and I definitely needed a drink. Once finally locating Swingers, Josie and I found a bar where I could see the entrance, and CB, when he arrived.

“I’m at the Gherkin but I can’t see the entrance…”

Shit me, I am actually going through with this. I waved Josie goodbye and walked to the entrance. I started looking around hoping I’d be able to see him.

If anyone has seen the film Clueless, they will understand the term, “A full on Monet” for those who don’t (First of all shame on you! Second of all, watch it!) it means from far away; in this case, a dating app, they look really good, but up close it’s a big ol’ mess. CB was just that.

As I mentioned in my hilarious bio, I am a measly 5ft 3inches in height. And I realise how shallow this sounds, and I’m really sad to admit it, I would like someone to be taller than me. Considering my height it would be easy. Unfortunately for me, CB was shorter, a lot shorter. However I pushed it to the back of my mind, until for the first time in TWO YEARS, I got ID’d. God I felt embarrassed, especially when they let in a group of at least seven in without asking them.

Bloody brilliant.

As we started to walk into the depths of Swingers, the next thing he said sent a chill down my spine. “So online it said you didn’t have to book..” Okay mate, but surely trying to impress this bitch would mean it would take two seconds to book? I didn’t make a fuss, it was fine, we can grab a drink, I thought. We got to the desk at seven thirty, “Yeah our next available slot is quarter to ten” fuck me. If that was not enough, he kept saying it was up to me. Just book it otherwise we could be here until midnight. Two hours with someone I had met for the first time, and impressions were lacking. Though I would just like to point out that CB was genuinely a lovely boy.

We found some seats near the bar, and he bought the round. Perfect. We began chatting, and we seemed to be getting on well for the first hour. But, he said the same story about Ibiza, I’m not exaggerating, four times. It was funny once but by the third time it had lost its charm. It then started be a lot of the same stories over again.

Finally it had reached T off.

Luckily for me, I had mini golf course to distract me from the boring date. Or so I thought. In my head, I truly and honestly believed I was an amazing mini golf player, and under false pretences of the first hole, my skills seemed valid.

If you know me, I’m quite competitive, I need to win. If you don’t: Hi I’m Becky, and I’m a horrificly sore loser.

With each hole, I kept getting a higher and higher score. Unfortunately the aim of golf is to get the lowest score. So I became more frustrated, and I probably only said about five words to CB and I had a level of anger that I couldn’t hide. At one point he was laughing at me, which was the worst thing he could of done. He did this right before the hardest hole, the Loop.

There was extra long queue for this hole as many struggled through it. By the time we got to it, I was so angry, (me angry? No way!) I just wanted the whole date to be over. I hit that mini golf ball with all the strength I had, then I started to walk away, when the most amazing thing happened

I GOT A HOLE IN ONE. That was the highlight of the evening sadly. It didn’t get any better. I still lost. I didn’t get the free shot I deserved because an umpire didn’t see my tremendous hole. The cloak room woman lost CB’s bag, it took 10 minutes and he had to lean over the counter to help. His chat didn’t get any better as walked to London Bridge, and we had the most awkward hug at the end of the night.

People have probably had worse nights, but for an introduction into the world of dating it was a experience to say the least. Onwards and upwards I will go.

Speak to you soon,

Devs xo

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Washing Machine Syndrome 

Hi all,

Look at me, I’m on a roll, must be becoming a proper blogger now. 

Today, we will be delving into my very limited dating experience, practically non-existant.

Here’s some context.

When I was younger, I used to read the Confessions of Georgia Nicolson by Louise Rennison. This is my first introduction to the world of boys being at a girls school. In the first book, you meet Peter Dyer, kissing extradordinaire, who tells Georgia to avoid “Washing Machine Syndrome”. Basically it’s all tongue and salvia in your mouth.

Not very appealing, and I was pretty much adamant I never was going to experience that. 

I was wrong.
After a few weeks of me attempting flirting, to be known to my friends as nan flirting (abysmal to say the least), we decided to go out with a group of friends. 

The night began in an aeroplane theme cocktail bar (The LP Bar – go check it out!). As the drinks racked up so did our minimal confidence. We walked over to the next destination of the night, there was a live DJ set in the pub across the road. A few more drinks down, we started to get closer to each other, there was only one person in between when dancing! 

Gold Digger by Kanye West came on, and this is when we started singing in each others faces and stayed that close for the rest of the evening. Me and a couple of girls then went in toilets to psyche me up. 

“He’s so into you!” 

“Devs you’ve got to kiss him!”

I have a few rules when it comes to boys:

  1. The boy can’t be shorter than you.
  2. They have to make the first move.

Just to name a couple. As you can see, I’m not for equality in romance, I hate making any sort of move. That’s more to my socially awkwardness and the fact I hate rejection. So in my head I decided that he had to be the one to do anything. 

Throughout the night, he began pulling me in and holding my hand whilst dancing (thank God for Red Stripe). Brilliant. He started making his move. But then he started pecking me on the cheek, forehead, nose…it seemed everywhere but my lips. 

At this point, I became inpatient, was there something wrong with my lips? No. I made a bold decision, I was going to go in for a proper kiss. In the middle of the dance floor. 

It happened

I experienced the washing machine, all tongue and salvia in my mouth, all I could think of at this moment in time was Peter Dyer. It wasn’t very pleasant for me. I was to polite to tell him. He led me outside to the smoking area. My lady friends were giving me thumbs up, little did they know.

We kissed twice more. Good Lord.

Luckily, the lead singer of Foals came from the terrace area and my tonsil tennis companion freed himself from my mouth. Thank God, he was more interested in Yannis Philippakis. 

So there we have it. Maybe there will be more stories to tell, otherwise I will have to become a crazy cat lady.

Ciao for now,

Devs xo

DISCLAIMER: I would like to point out that I am still currently friends with said boy (until he reads this).