So yesterday was my date with Mr Short the First. I think to be fair to him I shall have to think of a new name, as I didn't really notice his height and I certainly wouldn't have thought it was a big deal if I hadn't been looking for it. He didn't really help himself with his opening comment, which was "Are you sure you don't mind about the height thing?" to which I told him that giving girls a reason not to go out with him within the first five minutes of meeting them was not necessarily the best way forward, and I think he got the message.
Anyway. I had a really good time! I'd forgotten how much fun it is to make myself look pretty and go out for dinner with someone, and I really enjoyed being able to put across the side of me that I wish I could project all the time. Sadly this was the only reason I had a good time - Mr Memory of a Goldfish (of which more later) was quite nice and all, but not very interesting and not fanciable, and although we kept the conversation going all night I knew I wasn't going to see him again. When I ask the question, "What are your ambitions? What do you have to have achieved before you die?" I have to confess I'm not terribly inspired by someone who says, "Well, I'd like to be a clinical psychologist". This I think was the reason I was able to be myself - when I'm with someone who I'm not attracted to I can relax and be the person I wish I could always be in front of men. I'm confident, sassy, intelligent, interesting and funny, and I also do a good job of looking interested in the other person even if I'm not. My problem is that when I'm with someone who I really fancy, I become thick as two short planks and lose all powers of conversation. I sit in silence desperately racking my brains for something to say and then when I do talk I come out with the most awful drivel and make myself look completely stupid. I also tend to respond to all questions by giggling like a fool. The worst thing is that a very small part of me retains its mental faculties and sits there shouting at the rest of me, "Come on woman, what the hell are you playing at? You're supposed to be intelligent and you are the equal of this person so why are you doing this?!" but the rest of me is powerless to resist the overwhelming idiocy. One day I hope to find a gorgeous man who I can talk to...surely it can't be too hard!
Anyway. I entertained Juicy today with some choice snippets of conversation from last night that I thought the rest of you would appreciate as well. You will now see why Mr Memory of a Goldfish has been renamed (perhaps Mr Completely Thick would also be appropriate).
Him: So what's the difference between the Arctic and the Antarctic?
(This came out of a conversation about places we'd like to visit)
Me: Well for a start one's a continent and one's an ocean.
Him: And didn't the Antarctic used to be part of America?
Me: Erm, are you thinking of Alaska?
Him: Oh yes, that's the one. So where's Antarctica then?
Me: I'm coming to Birmingham for my birthday - we're hiring a limo,
dressing up and going to Broad Street.
Him: What are you dressing up as?
Me: No, I meant dressing up smart...
Him: Oh right. So when was the last time you went to a fancy dress
Him: So you live in Leamington then.
Me (rejoicing that he'd actually remembered something): Yes, it's
lovely, blah blah.
Him (5 minutes later): So do you live with your parents?
Me (knowing full well I'd told him this already): No, I rent a flat by
myself in the centre of town.
Him: Which town?
Me (suppressing an urge to strangle him): Leamington...
I hope you're suitably amused.
Well, after an evening of being attractive and intelligent I'm back to my normal self today with an impressive display of Disaster Baking. Obviously forgetting to buy chocolate drops when I wanted to make chocolate drop cookies was something of an error, and then I got bored and made the balls of dough far too big so they all merged in the oven and although they came apart it was in very weird shapes. They're slightly tasteless (unsurprisingly) and generally a bit of a disaster, but I have to take them to work or I'll eat them all myself. Luckily I remembered the golden rule which is that when I'm trying something new I should always make brownies as a backup, so everyone should be happy with those tomorrow.
A level day looms large. If I make it through 8am to 5pm tomorrow and 8.30 to 7pm on Friday of constant "Have I got in?" phonecalls without a break (we're even having a buffet delivered so we don't have to leave the office) I shall see you all on the other side...