KEY POINTS:
For those lamenting their single status this Valentine's Day, here's a modern day fable for you.
While love can be good, and flowers are nice, it's better to be single than stuck with someone like this...
It started off innocuously enough. A friend had a workmate who was looking to be set up. We'd seen each other in passing, and satisfied that neither party was a complete troll, we agreed to meet for a drink.
Well, we finally agreed to meet for a drink. After a prolonged bout of umming and aghing over where to go and what to do. "I don't mind, I'm easy." "Well, it's up to you." "No, really. You choose." "No, no, I don't mind." And so on.
Six o'clock rolled round on the designated day and off I went to meet aforementioned date. I believe the day in question was a Tuesday, so I was more than a little surprised to find him a bit tipsy. Scratch that, he was sloshed.
As we pulled up a pew at a local bar, we embarked on what was to become one of the most awkward hours of my life. Bleary-eyed and slurring, said male was incapable of looking at my face, his gaze streamlined towards my chest as he began an hour-long tirade about himself.
The God Complex isn't a particularly endearing feature in anyone, but it's especially trying when the person has no justifiable reason for it. You're not that good looking, you're not that smart and you're definitely not funny, so what have you got to be arrogant about?
Over the course of two drinks, I was subjected to an array of 'hilarious' stories about my date's prior relations with other women; racist jokes; sexist jokes; and multiple anecdotes about how awesome his Mum is. Don't get me wrong, I think it's great that someone has a close relationship with their mother. But I don't need to hear about it for 30 minutes straight, when I've never met the woman and given tonight's events, never will.
All this, while said male sweats profusely, increasingly confused by my lack of laughter and unimpressed facial expression.
But the real piece de resistance of the evening came when an acquaintance of his passed by. 'Henry', he calls. 'Hey mate, hows it going? This is my friend..." Awkward silence.
He didn't even remember my name.
Most people would be embarrassed by such a heinous faux pas, but not this guy. By this stage, I'd had enough. I made my feeble excuses (I just remembered my budgerigar needs walking) and went to leave. But not before he ended the night on a high. Knocking my glass of pinot all over my cream silk skirt.
Love can be great. But I'd take singledom over this guy any day of the week.
