My First Sunday date

Thought maybe I would write about my 'romantic' encounters; analyse them, and unfortunately see what went wrong. Now, I like to go on a date on a Sunday; I'm usually subdued from a hangover and I think that's when I'm at my best. Sunday's are also my favourite time of the week to contact all my nearest and dearest when I'm fed up of being bed bound.

This Sunday in the summer was no exception. I found myself Snapchatting a guy I met earlier in the year, named on my phone as 'Stephen Faggot' (he was a little fem and I was convinced he was gay). We got on well on a night out when I met him in my friend's boyfriend's bar. He was really funny, smart, and finally my age. From his number, I found him on Facebook, saw he did some stand up comedy as well as singing and writing; right up my street. A nice confident lad. 

The number exchange happened on the night, and subsequently, we arranged a date but he just didn't reply when I said I was ready...

So we've managed to communicate again, he's apologising about being crap and doesn't even have an excuse, but his humour is coming through the social media correspondence so when he asks if I want to hang out in the evening, I agree to.

The Southern Comfort in my system prevented nerves from forming, and I found myself driving to his apartment in the city centre, I rang him when I got lost so it would be less awkward when we did meet. He got in the car, we went to the shop and bought food and drink and then went back to his apartment.

And it was a typical lads apartment, completely gross. Complete with toilet that didn't flush and used johnny in the bathroom bin. I drank immediately to ensure I was having a good time. It started off ok; I requested songs on YouTube and we laughed and I told stories I hadn't in a long time which made me even more animated. And then he suggested a James Corden viewing...

And this went on for at least an hour. Maybe even two. Two hours of James Corden footage, and I couldn't force the fake laughter out anymore. He didn't want to elaborate on the answers to my questions, nor did he ask for my opinions. I decided to go to the toilet to try and fart to make myself happier (you're not you if you're full of gas). So there I was, toilet roll to bum to prevent any noises being heard from the other side of the door, and to my absolute horror when I wiped, I realised I had sharted. To be clear, this is when you fart, and a little bit of shit comes out. Absolutely no warning whatsoever.

Luckily, as I discovered the flush didn't work at an earlier part of the evening, I knew not to discard the soiled paper into the toilet. So what did I do? I wrapped it and wrapped it and I then had to lodge it in a gap in the bin, almost touching the remains of my predecessor. I swiftly left the bathroom, not feeling better whatsoever, and returned to the living room. Of course he gets up immediately to go to the toilet afterwards.

When he joins me again, to what is now a Jimmy Fallon playlist, he asks what we're doing, and whether "I'd like to stay the night" I politely use an excuse about work and I make my way out of there. I had just got away with one drama, let alone having to try and explain shitting the bed.

He hasn't contacted me since. But you know what, surprisingly boring, and not my kind of attractive. Thanks for really putting me back to square zero on the dating platform.