My first date

It took place on a Saturday, I believe. It has to be. I was still a college student and rarely met people on a Sunday. And my week was fully filled with classes.

I was getting a bit tired of the meaningless meets which the apps I used brought so I was pleased and flattered when he suggested we go on a date. He was sufficiently interested and we shared a few interests such as theatre and fine dining. It also didn’t hurt that he was polite and articulate.

I worried about setting the tone of our first meeting too high, so suggested we go to a cafe. It served the purpose of being a place where we could chat away from our homes while still being relatively laid back. I picked my outfit carefully and wore a slimming, black ensemble – making sure to tame my wild hair with some product I’d specifically purchased.

He was a bit early and texted me to indicate where he waited. I ventured across with a small grin on my face but stopped short when I spotted him from afar. He was considerably different than the photos he’d previously sent. For a moment, I considered standing him up. However, my conscience would not allow me to be so cruel. Walking across the space between us, I willed the time to speed up and focused on maintaining my neutral expression.

We exchanged the mandatory pleasantries and then headed to the nearby cafe. Soon after, disaster one struck. He’d asked me what I was studying and I explained that I was doing A-levels in Music, Chemistry,  Biology and Further Mathematics and wished to study Medicine in order to become a Doctor. He asked me what my motivations were for choosing that profession and I explained, waxing enthusiastic about my choice. In closing, I joked about why I wouldn’t want to be a nurse. I thought I detected a change in the atmosphere but dismissed the thought as a mere speck of my paranoia. Speculatively, though, I asked “Are you by any chance a nurse?” expecting him to negate the query. To my surprise, he responded with the affirmative and I winced, knowing that I’d put my foot in my mouth.

I thought that would be the end of the evening’s surprises. How wrong I was! About 15 minutes later, as he was talking, I reached forward with my hand to grab a napkin to wipe at my mouth but accidentally spilled the half full cup of hot chocolate on the table and him. I immediately apologised profusely and helped him clean himself up. But it was too late. We called it a night shortly after and I set off home.

The only time I’ve since spoken to him was when I accidentally texted him, expecting someone else I’d become interested in.