The story about the woman on a Tinder date who did a poo that wouldn't flush is clogging (ahem!) my newsfeed today. And yesterday. And probably will tomorrow. In a nutshell, she was at her date's house - first date courtesy of Tinder, so I understand - and nature called. She took a dump that was apparently too voluminous to travel to the S-bend, and decided to throw it out the window. As you do. Her grand plan was brought down by the design of the windows; some kind of double-paned creations and the poo landed 'twixt them. This is so not good. She told her date, and got stuck trying to retrieve it. Emergency services had to help rescue her. If the relationship works out between this pair, it will really be a good story to tell any progeny.
That really is an awful date, and it's almost apocryphally urban-mythical. It puts the story of my own worst-ever date into some kind of perspective. Yeah, I had an awful experience many years ago. The only good thing to come from this was when I used it as an entry in a contest wherein you had to write of your most awkward ever date. I won an evening for two at a local motel, seven course degustation meal included.
What happened on my own awful date was this: picture the scene - Sydney, 1986. Look, 1986 was not great in many respects. We had the Challenger Disaster, and the Chernobyl Disaster, and Bananarama's silly remake of 'Venus' was one of the top selling singles of the year. I was a slender twenty-year old, who favoured pink polka-dotted cotton pants, with a longish white blouse over the top, where my waist was cinched in with a wide black belt. I probably looked pretty stupid, but the look was de rigeur. This bloke in his mid-twenties did not think I looked stupid. He thought I looked a bit of all right, and we went out to the movies. This isn't the worst ever date, but stay with me, I'm getting to it. As I travelled home, it occurred to me there was very little chemistry between us. However, he telephoned through the week and asked me to dinner. Stupidly, I decided to give him another chance.
We went to dinner at a club in Bondi. As I chowed down on my chicken Kiev, it became glaringly obvious to me there was a severe lack of chemistry between us, and even worse, this guy was really rather inane. This was well before mobile telephones, so I could not even have a friend ring me through the evening, thus enabling me to concoct an emergency whereby I had to end the evening immediately. I suffered through dinner, and for some unknown reason agreed to go to his place and watch a video. I remind you this was 1986, and DVDs and Netflix were the stuff of science fiction.
We stood in a video store on Bondi Road. He perused the shelves, and I started to feel very claustrophobic. I decided to sit on the front step of the store. I listened to the waves pounding the shores of the beach, and the motion of my stomach started to do the same. I was sweating. I knew I had to get home.
My date exited the store with his chosen movie, and I stood, with difficulty. I told him I needed to get home. He argued the evening was early and I couldn't possibly be considering leaving yet. I snarled I was sick and wanted to go home. He said that couldn't possibly the case. We argued like this briefly, and then I just knew. I clapped a hand over my mouth, my eyes bulging in their sockets as I quickly looked this way and that, trying to locate a garbage bin. To Waverley Council's great shame, there were none. I rushed behind some nearby parked cars, removed my hand from my mouth, and with a hideous gluuur-uuurrrt! regurgitated a veritable torrent that sent flecks of partially digested chicken Kiev raining down on the bitumen like amorphous, acrid hail stones.
This is awful, but it's not what made the date so bad. What made it so jaw-droppingly bad was when the guy came around the car, stared in wonder at the mess, and then asked, 'Did any bits get stuck in your nose?' No, I did not make that up. What is even worse, he actually wanted to know! He was genuinely curious about that.
To this day, I am confident I have never heard anything so utterly foul, or so utterly stupid. I am also confident I have never really eaten chicken Kiev since that evening. The relationship with this imbecile progressed no further.
Yes, it was a pretty rank evening all round, but it pales in comparison to what happened to this couple, the exploits of whom are - ahem! - clogging up my newsfeed.
Anyway, I'm going to make a cup of tea. I'm still dealing with an abundance of crap, so it seems, but I think it will be resolved shortly. I feel there's someone playing games, and these games are not leisurely in nature.
However, I am tutoring a little boy in reading and spelling this afternoon, so I will focus on that and not the total mind-fuck a certain person appears to be attempting to inflict upon me. I'm much better than I have been about it; her attempts to mind-fuck are being blocked and stymied, so she's probably got the equivalent of 'blue balls' for those who have their odious unwanted mind-fornications stopped in its tracks.
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