Read Love... From Both Sides (A laugh-out-loud romantic comedy) Online
Authors: Nick Spalding
It’s not good enough to simply ask the young lady if she still wants to go out and arrange a time and place before signing off – that’s far too brief and to the point.
Unlike conversations on the phone with other men, women want you to actually have something of
substance
to say, to prove that you’re worth the time and effort of getting dressed up for.
Therefore you must have a topic of conversation prepared ahead of time for THE PHONE CALL.
Nothing that’ll take an hour to get through (don’t start telling her all about your hopes and dreams for the future, or your opinions on climate change) but something that will engage her interest for a good five minutes, and will make you sound like a charming, upstanding individual.
Avoid mentioning sex, football, cars, your personal hygiene or your mother and you should be fine.
With Laura I elect to ask her if her friend’s child enjoyed the doll’s house she’d battered me with. This shows that I listened properly to her explanation for why she nearly killed me with the bloody thing and demonstrates an interest in something Laura clearly felt was important to her.
In reality, I couldn’t give a shit if the kid had taken one look at the house and vomited into the chimney stack, but this is the type of bullshit you have to engage with if you’re going to secure yourself a date.
…which I did, I’m happy to say!
THE PHONE CALL went fine and we chatted amiably for a good ten minutes.
The girl did like the doll’s house it transpires.
I made the appropriate sympathetic noises when Laura described the nasty graze she’d got on her knee because of the crash, and she was pleased when I told her I had no lasting effects from my fall onto the concrete. I assume this was out of a genuine concern for my health, rather than a desire not to get sued.
It was a blatant lie in fact, because I’d actually woken up the next day with a nasty backache, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to admit it.
Backache is the kind of thing only suffered by men who have completely lost their grip on youth.
This is not the impression I want to give Laura at the outset.
She even sounded pleased when I suggested the out of town Barley Corn pub as a location for our date.
This is the riskiest part of THE PHONE CALL. The place you choose says a lot about your personality. The reaction you get says a lot about hers.
A girl like sex monster Isobel would have been deeply disappointed with a quaint, quiet country pub like The Barley Corn I have no doubt, as would Annika the Swedish goddess.
They would probably have both found it far too prosaic and boring.
I took a chance with Laura though. She struck me as being a down-to-earth, easy going kind of girl who’d appreciate the quiet atmosphere a place like The Barley Corn provides – and I was proved right when she sounded genuinely pleased at my suggestion.
Having arranged to meet at
, I hung up with a huge sigh of relief and instantly began to worry about what the hell I was going to wear…
Tuesday, May 24th
Dear Mum,
Oh my. My luck just might be changing…
I’m not saying last night’s date was necessarily the start of a love affair for the ages, but I can’t remember the last time I walked away from one as happy as this.
I’ve heard people talk about ‘clicking’ with someone before. It always sounded like the worst kind of buzzword bullshit to me, but I’ve got an idea of what they’re talking about now.
Jamie and I just seemed to fit together well and I couldn’t be more pleased.
Blah
.
This is disgusting.
I’m a twenty eight year old independent woman with her own business and I sound like a giddy schoolgirl.
Three days after the crash Jamie phoned me.
He’d obviously read all the right dating manuals as this is the accepted time any man should leave before getting in touch. Long enough not to appear desperate, but short enough to seem appropriately interested.
To tell the truth, the call could have come at a better time as I was waxing my legs – something you want to concentrate on as much as possible, with no outside interference.
Besides, when a man calls, you want to feel at least a
little bit
attractive, even though he can’t see you, for the psychological boost if nothing else.
Being dressed in my fluffy blue dressing gown, biggest period knickers and sporting a set of hairy legs is about as far away from attractive as it’s possible to get.
It’s the kind of look you don’t want a man to associate you with until at least four years into a relationship.
I could tell Jamie was quite nervous by the speed at which he talked.
He was kind enough to ask whether Hayley liked her present or not, though he did call her Katy for some reason. I let it slide as the fact he even remembered who the present was for was surprising in itself.
I suppose the one saving grace of the ridiculous manner in which we bumped into each other was that we had something to talk about in our second conversation.
Jamie asked about the graze on my leg. I neglected to go into detail about the fifteen pitiable minutes I’d prodded at it with TCP soaked cotton wool, tears brimming in my eyes.
He did the typical guy thing of shrugging off being body slammed to the road by a frantic blonde on a Vespa.
I nearly brought up how funny he’d looked hugging his rubber plant like it was about to leave him for another bush, but thought better of it. A man’s ego is fragile enough at times like this and I didn’t want to scare him off.
Frankly, I was pleased he made light of the accident, just in case the date didn’t work out and he decided to sue me.
The Barley Corn was a bit out of left field for a location, it has to be said.
I’m so used to being invited to coffee houses and city pubs (where there are ample opportunities for the man to end the date early if he doesn’t like the look of me) that the prospect of a quiet drink in one of the more picturesque pubs outside of town seemed like a very nice alternative.
It also meant Jamie would be able to hide my body easily should he prove to be Ted Bundy’s little brother, but I figured the risk was worth it. My first impressions hadn’t set off any alarm bells. Charlie would be instructed to ring me at
anyway and inform the police if I didn’t pick up.
With the date arranged, Jamie said goodbye in a tone of voice that suggested he was glad the call was over. I took this as a sign of nerves, rather than buyer’s remorse, and hung up with a faint smile on my face.
Now the only problem I had was deciding what clothes to wear that would effectively disguise the ugly two inch gash on my right knee…
Jamie’s Blog
Tuesday, 24 May continued…
Somewhat ruining the ambience of our date location is the fact somebody has left graffiti on the pub’s sign so it now reads ‘The Barley Porn’ - which sounds like a skin flick set in the West Country.
Still, it’s a mild Spring evening, I’m wearing my best bib and tucker and there’s a young lady to be wooed, so I don’t let it worry me unduly.
I’ve taken several strong pain killers to mask the agony I’m now in from the body slam into the road last week. The last thing I need is to be moving around like a crippled robot trying not to aggravate my back, so I’m pleased that the pills have taken the edge off.
I figure a bit of Dutch courage is the order of the day, so I make sure to turn up half an hour early at 7pm to drain a swift pint before Laura arrives.
I could’ve taken my time and sipped it as I’d forgotten the first rule of dating: the woman always turns up late.
If I hate one thing about the first stages of a relationship it’s the little games we’re forced to play in order to size up the ‘opposition’. A woman arriving late tests
your
patience, and gives
her
a good idea of how keen you are - if you’re prepared to wait around for her that is.
I’m keen enough on Laura to stand at the bar for nearly an hour before she walks in, dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a white vest top that’s tight enough to show off her boobs.
She’d obviously spent a great deal of time on her hair and make-up as she looks very pretty indeed.
…scratch that, she’s
beautiful
.
The ensemble is only slightly marred by the fact she appears to be limping.
It’s rather like looking at a Ferrari with a puncture.
Mind you, I’m trying my best to hide the fact I can’t move my head independently of my shoulders due to the sharp, stabbing pains I feel every time I try, so who the hell am I to be critical?
‘Hi Laura!’ I say cheerfully as she walks over.
At this point my brain decides to ruin everything. It’s been behaving itself all day, but now decides to throw in a suggestion which could potentially put a spanner in the works.
Why don’t you give her a kiss on the cheek?
it suggests, with no regard for my well being whatsoever.
I can’t do that!
I argue.
It’s way too forward for a first date!
Don’t be a pussy!
it replies.
Now I’m stuck in an agony of indecision as Laura heads towards me:
Do I chance a kiss on the cheek?
Will she like it?
Will it put her off?
What’s the dating etiquette here?
Why the hell did I agree to do this?
I want to go home!
I eventually win the argument with my treacherous brain and just go for a brisk hand shake.
‘What can I get you to drink?’ I ask.
Don’t say a pint of mild. Don’t say a pint of mild. Don’t say a pint of mild.
‘Small glass of white wine please. Pinot Grigio if they’ve got it.’
Phew.
I order the drinks from a barman who is only just able to suppress a smirk as he takes note of the nervous first date tone to my voice. He’s seen this little act play out a thousand times, I’m sure.