The Dating Game. Carolyn Caterer

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      “Simon. He is fifty years old with three step children who are in their late teens and that he does see regularly, despite being divorced. He’s a policeman apparently so no Cagney and Lacey jokes if you don’t mind.”

      “Absolutely not. Where are you going to meet him then?”

      “I’ve decided on coffee again as it seems to reduce the risk of death by boredom, so we will meet in Guildford at Starbucks. After all if it doesn’t turn out to be a good date I can at least have a nice walk around the shops!”

      “Sounds like a plan. Anyway you never know; this may be ‘the One’.”

      “Ah yes, because you just never know.”

      “Exactly. I ‘m around so if you need me to make an emergency call to get you out of there, just sneak off to the loo and text me and I will come to your rescue.”

      “Thanks, I’ll certainly bear that in mind.”

      Chapter 7

      Date #6: Simon

      The following Saturday afternoon found me walking up Guildford High Street in the sunshine with a spring in my step and, while not exactly a song in my heart, certainly a positive attitude to my next meeting as I refused to allow my previous experiences to affect my current feelings about the next man.

      As I approached the mall where Starbucks was located I could see a man standing outside scanning the crowds wandering by in a slightly anxious and yet interested way. I immediately recognised him from his pictures featured on the website with short, thinning dark hair, heavily flecked with grey. Dressed in a T shirt which showed the potential beginnings of a paunch, Simon looked pretty normal so that was a relief and, after my previous experience this did look like a more promising encounter already.

      I walked up to him, beamed my best smile and said hello.

      He jumped, slightly taken aback at my sudden appearance but then broke into a smile and I saw that at least he had a full set of teeth, which, whilst not the straightest or whitest in the world did seem to be in good shape and, as an extra bonus there was no scent of halitosis emanating from his mouth. I have to admit I heaved a sigh of relief to myself at this point.

      What is more, he ushered me through the door first and proceeded to ask me what I would like to drink.

      “A decaf latte please.”

      “What’s a latte?” He asked and I confess I was somewhat taken aback at this question. After all with so many coffee shop chains you would think it was common knowledge as to what a latte was.

      “Well in short it is just a milky coffee. “ I replied, determined not to let this slightly odd question put me off my positive approach to this latest man.

      “Oh right. I’ve always wondered about that.”

      He then ordered himself a cake and turned round to see me eyeing up the pastries.

      “I don’t suppose you’re hungry.” Came the words, which at first I thought was actually a question, but as he proffered his cash at the woman behind the till, realised was in fact a statement based on a completely erroneous assumption.

      “Actually I’d like a Danish pastry please. “ I blurted out just in time for the woman to add it to the order.

      “Goodness, I imagined that you’re the type that is permanently on a diet.” He remarked, as we walked towards a spare table located by the window.

      “What on earth would make you say that?”

      “In your profile you seemed to be quite sporty so I assumed that was because you had a bit of a weight issue so you needed to diet and exercise to stay looking as you are, or else resort to surgery in the near future.”

      Now coming from a man who looked like he could perhaps do with a bit more muscle, to put it lightly, I was taken aback that he was making all these assumptions about me.

      “I admit that one of the benefits of exercising as often as I do is that I can eat what I like, but a weight problem? No, not at all.” I laughed, though I was beginning to wonder if this was going to be another one of those dates that was to shortly end in disappointment.

      However, I decided to let that comment go and started to ask him about his job as a policeman, which seemed to consist mainly of paperwork on the account of the fact that he had high cholesterol and so had been put behind a desk until it was sorted out. Looking at the giant chocolate chip muffin that sat in front of him, I did wonder if he had the slightest idea of the link between saturated fats and cholesterol levels, but decided against having that conversation while I was myself about to enjoy my Danish pastry.

      He then proceeded to ask me about my job in marketing and I began to explain to him what I did, as he delved into his cake and started to eat.

      At this point I have to say that I cannot remember exactly what I said over the next few minutes, other than the fact that he didn’t seem to be able to grasp the difference between marketing and sales and kept asking me what it was like working in sales (a question designed to really piss off the person in marketing), as what was happening in front of my eyes was too distracting.

      He would take a large bite of his cake, lean back in his chair and listen (although I use that term loosely in retrospect) to me and then ask another question. Nothing wrong with that you might think? Well, no, unless you are still eating your cake and, as you begin to speak crumbs come tumbling out of your mouth. At first I thought he had no idea what was happening but then I began to notice that he would automatically brush the crumbs from his lap onto the floor, which suggested to me that this was in fact a common occurrence.

      This was of course somewhat off-putting but worse was yet to come. As we continued to converse he leant forward and I began to realise that I was now in danger of being inside his spitting zone and, it didn’t take long for me to find out that I was actually correct. As he sat and asked for the umpteenth time about working in sales a raisin-sized lump of partly chewed cake came out of his open mouth and I watched, in what seemed like some surreal slow-motion film, the aforementioned piece of food, arch into the air and start heading in my direction.

      I tried desperately to move out of the way and, managed to twist my knees out of its trajectory but it fell with aplomb onto the top of my shoe (suede, so a complete disaster if it were to mark it). Simon seemed to be completely oblivious to all of this culinary action, though he did ask me if I had a problem as I swung my foot up and down in an effort to dislodge the piece of muffin before I had a greasy stain on my shoe, but luckily a hefty kick against the table saw the guilty piece fall to the floor.

      The next ten minutes seemed to be more like a tennis match with me waving my arms around in an attempt to bat the barrage of cake crumbs away as he talked about his favourite football team (I didn’t know Guildford Town held such an allure for soccer fans) while at the same time trying not to show my boredom by yawning for fear that one of those crumbs would land inside my mouth and I would regurgitate my Danish Pastry all over the leather Starbucks chair.

      I sat listening to him droning on about his lifelong support for his team, СКАЧАТЬ