As a lawyer, I believe in fairness.
Therefore, before regaling you with more recent events, it seems appropriate to share with you some of the most memorable moments in my 'romantic' history. Afterall, it would be unfair not to recall those dates that caused more hysterical laughter amongst my friends than the country's best comedians have ever managed...so, in this post, I shall introduce you to Vestman!
To put episodes like my meeting with Vestman in context, I should make clear that I do not hate men. On the contrary, I’d like
nothing more than to meet a well-adjusted man with humour, intelligence and
compassion. I accept post-30 he is likely to have baggage, although a little
less than Heathrow would be preferable.
I do not have an unrealistic list of boxes that the men I meet must tick (although a Johnny Depp lookalike would be desirable!) and am realistic about the futility of having such prescriptive expectations.
After exchanging several phone calls, we agreed to meet. Having described himself as slim and fit, with aspirations to become a professional athlete in his youth, I was not expecting a Hairy Biker lookalike. However, neither was I expecting what greeted me – a man in a Donnay athletics vest, displaying his sinewy biceps complete with lobster-red T-shirt tan!
Maybe it was the glass of wine I’d bought us, or maybe the scorching hot day had bought on a touch of sun stoke, but, after chatting for a while longer, something possessed me (probably the lack of decent local beer gardens) to suggest that we decanted to my own garden to enjoy the unseasonably good weather. Our many conversations over recent days had suggested he had some things to commend him and no-one was perfect. Perhaps, he could be forgiven the vest…
‘Oh…so why do you think mine is less than yours?’ I asked indignantly, whilst wondering if it was actually possible to have an IQ of 186. Surely that would make him beyond genius and, if that were the case, would he really be wearing a vest?
‘Because mine is exceptionally high. The average is 100, so 140 is not bad.’
‘Really…’ this one definitely wouldn’t be getting a second date!
As I felt it was too early to politely ask him to leave, I ast back and let his inane chatter wash over me. Whilst I suspected he may take himself a little too seriously and was somewhat surprised when he announced, proudly, that he’d previously dated the well-known author of several bestsellers and a Hollywood actress (neither of whom I’d heard of), I let it pass. After all, I’d had a fling with an actor myself (albeit that his claim to fame extended to an episode of Shelley in the 70’s and a Levi jeans ad).
As the sun blazed, conversation turned to the numerous paintings, prints and photographs adorning almost every wall in my house – each telling a story or commemorating a special time or place in my life. So far, so innocuous, until I mentioned a wonderful painting by an Argentinean artist – Fabien Perez. To put what happened next into perspective, one must understand that I have never met, nor am I ever likely to meet, Senor Perez. He lives in the States, is an internationally renowned artist feted wherever he goes. He is also happily married with a daughter and could give my beloved Johnny Depp a run for his money in the looks stakes!
So when I went on to say he was very attractive and I fancied him, Vestman’s reaction was somewhat unexpected. After all, fancying Fabien is a little like fancying Johnny. Even if I did meet him, the chance of romance ensuing with a 30-something, curvier than she'd like to be, lawyer from down town Hampshire, is about as likely as Vestman having an IQ of 186.
‘How dare you?’ he yelled, leaping to his feet, vest flying and coming as near as I have ever seen a man come to foaming at the mouth.
‘How dare I what?’
‘How dare you fancy someone else when you’re with me?’
With him? I hadn’t realised I was ‘with him’ and was finding this display of male posturing ridiculous. Would I have reacted in a similar fashion, if he’s admitted a penchant for Cameron Diaz? Unlikely. In fact, hadn’t he mentioned that he’d dated a Hollywood actress in the past…? I don’t recall jumping up and down like a rabid lobster.
As he grabbed his car keys and stalked from the house, I could not quite believe what had occurred (or my luck that he had left). Discussing this less than savoury episode with a good friend (who also happens to be a sane, calm and lovely man) the following day, whilst veering between relief that he had left and shock at what had happened, I realised what a lucky escape I had had.
However, as with everything that life throws at us a valuable lesson had been learned – never, ever trust a man who wears a vest! NEXT...!
Therefore, before regaling you with more recent events, it seems appropriate to share with you some of the most memorable moments in my 'romantic' history. Afterall, it would be unfair not to recall those dates that caused more hysterical laughter amongst my friends than the country's best comedians have ever managed...so, in this post, I shall introduce you to Vestman!
 |
| Models used to protect the guilty! |
I do not have an unrealistic list of boxes that the men I meet must tick (although a Johnny Depp lookalike would be desirable!) and am realistic about the futility of having such prescriptive expectations.
So I was
actually a little exited for the first time in a while when contemplating a
date who – unlike many that had gone before - had a job, did not live with his
parents, demonstrated a degree of humour (albeit not entirely in line with my
own self-deprecating wit), lived less than an hour away, was not still grieving
the demise of a recently ended relationship and his home number was provided
without prompting (important if one is to filter out those men who have a wife
they’ve conveniently forgotten to mention)...
After exchanging several phone calls, we agreed to meet. Having described himself as slim and fit, with aspirations to become a professional athlete in his youth, I was not expecting a Hairy Biker lookalike. However, neither was I expecting what greeted me – a man in a Donnay athletics vest, displaying his sinewy biceps complete with lobster-red T-shirt tan!
Maybe it was the glass of wine I’d bought us, or maybe the scorching hot day had bought on a touch of sun stoke, but, after chatting for a while longer, something possessed me (probably the lack of decent local beer gardens) to suggest that we decanted to my own garden to enjoy the unseasonably good weather. Our many conversations over recent days had suggested he had some things to commend him and no-one was perfect. Perhaps, he could be forgiven the vest…
As we settled ourselves on to my new garden chairs and forged ahead on our voyage
of discovery, I asked what he had liked about my profile.
‘Your intelligence…’ he said,
without hesitation.
Good
answer, I thought. Thanks to my ample cleavage, many previous suitors had been
more interested in my bra size than anything more cerebral. Unfortunately,
my elation was short lived, as he continued, ... my IQ is 186, which means yours must be about 140.’‘Oh…so why do you think mine is less than yours?’ I asked indignantly, whilst wondering if it was actually possible to have an IQ of 186. Surely that would make him beyond genius and, if that were the case, would he really be wearing a vest?
‘Because mine is exceptionally high. The average is 100, so 140 is not bad.’
‘Really…’ this one definitely wouldn’t be getting a second date!
As I felt it was too early to politely ask him to leave, I ast back and let his inane chatter wash over me. Whilst I suspected he may take himself a little too seriously and was somewhat surprised when he announced, proudly, that he’d previously dated the well-known author of several bestsellers and a Hollywood actress (neither of whom I’d heard of), I let it pass. After all, I’d had a fling with an actor myself (albeit that his claim to fame extended to an episode of Shelley in the 70’s and a Levi jeans ad).
As the sun blazed, conversation turned to the numerous paintings, prints and photographs adorning almost every wall in my house – each telling a story or commemorating a special time or place in my life. So far, so innocuous, until I mentioned a wonderful painting by an Argentinean artist – Fabien Perez. To put what happened next into perspective, one must understand that I have never met, nor am I ever likely to meet, Senor Perez. He lives in the States, is an internationally renowned artist feted wherever he goes. He is also happily married with a daughter and could give my beloved Johnny Depp a run for his money in the looks stakes!
So when I went on to say he was very attractive and I fancied him, Vestman’s reaction was somewhat unexpected. After all, fancying Fabien is a little like fancying Johnny. Even if I did meet him, the chance of romance ensuing with a 30-something, curvier than she'd like to be, lawyer from down town Hampshire, is about as likely as Vestman having an IQ of 186.
‘How dare you?’ he yelled, leaping to his feet, vest flying and coming as near as I have ever seen a man come to foaming at the mouth.
‘How dare I what?’
‘How dare you fancy someone else when you’re with me?’
With him? I hadn’t realised I was ‘with him’ and was finding this display of male posturing ridiculous. Would I have reacted in a similar fashion, if he’s admitted a penchant for Cameron Diaz? Unlikely. In fact, hadn’t he mentioned that he’d dated a Hollywood actress in the past…? I don’t recall jumping up and down like a rabid lobster.
As he grabbed his car keys and stalked from the house, I could not quite believe what had occurred (or my luck that he had left). Discussing this less than savoury episode with a good friend (who also happens to be a sane, calm and lovely man) the following day, whilst veering between relief that he had left and shock at what had happened, I realised what a lucky escape I had had.
However, as with everything that life throws at us a valuable lesson had been learned – never, ever trust a man who wears a vest! NEXT...!
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