Week Twenty-Five: Dutch Courage
It’s said that in Ireland, we use alcohol as a crutch and when it comes to dating, there is something very comforting about that little bit of Dutch courage that a glass of wine will give you.
You know the one we’re talking about. That point of the night when your shoulders have relaxed, your nerves have cooled and you could make interesting conversation with just about anyone.
Unfortunately, as with our men, we are not always paragons of self-control when it comes to having a few sherries and what was intended to be a helping hand towards acting like the flawless goddess that we know we are, can end up having the opposite effect.
Here are the tales of two Her ladies who will be closely watching their alcohol intake in future!
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“I had been engaged in a game of late-night phone tag with a very attractive gentleman for a few weeks at this stage. And when I say phone-tag, I mean the naughty kind where you stumble out of a nightclub at 2am and call your ‘go to’ person for a bit of late night company (I was in my early 20s, we all did it!).
Anyways, I had fallen into the inevitable trap of starting to fancy my midnight Romeo and wondering if we might actually be well-suited to spending time together in daylight hours. So, I was thrilled when he text and suggested we meet for a drink that evening in a nearby bar at the very respectable time of 9pm.
However, this was far before the time of Tinder, and my dating experience was limited so the nerves began to kick in big time. I decided to calm down with a glass of wine as I got ready and ended up dressed an hour early. Another glass was had while I chatted to my flatmates and when he text to say he had been delayed and might be a half hour late, sure what else was I going to do by pour another drop?
Long story short, I ended up turning up for my big date absolutely plastered. I draped myself over the couch thinking that I looked like Elizabeth Taylor but frankly, I was a hot mess. We had a few more late-night trysts after that but it’s safe to say that I’d blown my chance at being ‘girlfriend material’!”
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“It was Christmas and on the last day of work, me and my colleagues went for our traditional few pints to start the holidays. I planned to stick to one or two as I had a lovely seasonal date planned with the boyfriend later that night but as often happens, ‘the one’ led to a few more.
I still felt fine as we left for our date and was very excited when he suggested that we go ice-skating as I had never been. My problems began with the fact that I was an avid fan of Dancing On Ice and assumed that I would glide along the rink while looking all cute and adorable in my winter woolies.
Unfortunately, my earlier tipple made my natural lack of balance and co-ordination much worse and I face planted on the floor within a few minutes.
I ended up with a swollen and scratched chin for the festival season and left my poor mother mortified when I couldn’t kneel at Christmas Mass due to a badly bruised knee. The boy, of course, found it hilarious and once my pride recovered, I too saw the funny side but I’ve never set foot on an ice rink since!”
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“I was on a night out with friends as a newly single girl and the drinks were flowing. To say I was a little worse for wear is probably an understatement and we spent a night dancing away and chatting to anybody who was interested in a conversation. It’s then I struck up a conversation with the Canadian. He was tall, dark and handsome and I’m a sucker for accents.
We had fun (he even liked to dance) and when he leaned in for the kiss, I was happy to oblige by tilting my mouth up to his.
Now this all sounds lovely, but it’s my own behaviour that followed that leaves me haunted. Like how he texted me for hours the next day, mentioned he was just after moving here from Canada and me realising I had no recollection of any of the conversation from the night before. Or accepting his date and then not being sure how I was actually going to recognise him when I got to the meeting point.
It ended up meaning that I had to call him from a private number, from behind a wall, and wait for the guy to answer his phone so I knew who to walk awkwardly over to for the date.
How could it go worse? Well he actually realised what I’d done, because I’m not smooth and I am tall. He’d seen me jumping off the bus.
He took it well, but I was so mortified that I mumbled responses throughout the date and feigned my excuse to leave early. There was no second date. Or drinking whiskey with the girls again.”
Have a dating disaster story? We want to hear it! Email [email protected] or tweet us @herdotie with the #shiftyfirstdates.
