Our dating blogger has three dates lined up but it feels like she is in The Three Little Pigs fairytale and fears the mysterious flower seller could be the one with the house of straw.
You can’t say I don’t try. I met one man last weekend and next weekend I’m meeting two. Like the three pigs. One with a house of straw, one with a house of wood – and I hope one of them is a house made of bricks that can’t be blown over by the wolf of reality.
Three is a magic number – third time lucky, not so? I hope so.
My next few dates sound good. One is a lawyer, and older than me. The second is a bit younger, with a doctorate in philosophy. The third is my wild card – a man who makes a living by selling flowers in restaurants.
The flower seller and I agree to meet on Friday night. He’s convinced we’re soulmates. “You’re perfect for me,” he types. “I can’t wait to hold you; I’ll overwhelm you with love, with romance . . .”
This gives me the willies. How can a man know he’s going to love you or that he’s going to enjoy holding you without ever having met you? Is he psychic? Or are these just nice words to lure me in? I’m immediately suspicious. On the one hand I feel guilty about my suspiciousness and on the other I suspect I’m right and that Mr Smooth Tongue is just softening me up.
I decide to give him a chance. On Friday morning I receive a whatsup message, “Can we meet at the Lapa?”
I don’t like the Lapa and tell him so. To tell the truth, I so don’t like the Lapa that I’d rather stuff a clothes peg up my nose than eat there. “That’s okay,” he tells me. “Whatever pleases the lady.” It pleases the lady to enjoy sushi in another restaurant. He agrees.
An hour before our date I get another message: “I don’t feel like sushi any more. What about a pizza? Wouldn’t you like a pizza?”
I wouldn’t like pizza but I also wouldn’t like to be troublesome. I reply that pizza is okay, that there’s a nice pizza place nearby.
“What about the Lapa?” he writes. “The Lapa has great pizza.”
Good grief, which part of the clothes peg declaration didn’t he understand? My reply is short and firm, “I told you, I don’t like the Lapa!”
“Sorry, sorry,” he replies. “It’s okay, we’ll stick with the sushi place.”
At lunch time I receive another message, “I can’t wait to meet you; you’re the woman for me, I can feel it. You’re an angel. I’ll really pamper you. The future awaits us. I’m dreaming of you, already longing for you.”
That really makes me anxious. Isn’t this declaration of love a little premature? I soothe myself with the thought that perhaps he’s just in love with my aura. It’s happened before. Two hours before our date I start getting ready. I follow the usual ritual. I shower, wash my hair, shave my legs, blowdry my hair, put on make-up and put on something pretty and clean. It’s a date, after all, and the man might just be my soulmate. And just as you always wear clean underwear in case you’re in an accident, you dress well in case Cupid’s arrows strike. I firmly believe that.
An hour before our date I receive another message. He can’t find the sushi restaurant on his Google GPS so he can’t get there. My eyebrows shoot up.
“That’s strange,” I let him know. “The sushi place is right next door to your beloved Lapa!”.
The silence that follows speaks volumes. At first I think the date is cancelled. Then I get another message, “I hope you’re not dressing up for tonight. I’m definitely not. I’m coming in my work clothes. No big deal, right.”
No big deal?
I grab my phone and let him know, “I did get dressed up. Out of respect for you. Obviously you don’t see the point. Big deal it is indeed. Consider the date cancelled.”
Conclusion: Piggy No 1 has a house of straw.
– Erla-Mari Diedericks
Erla-Mari Diedericks is the author of the book Sin, Sushi & Survival and her latest novel, Still Standing, is now available in shops countrywide as well as at kalahari.com.
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