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Is it me, I ask myself a hundred times a day, but on this conundrum, I’ll let you, dear reader, decide.
So off I go on a ‘date’ with the new man. I haven’t said much about the new man, as I have no idea if he is going to be the new man for much longer. To be honest the signs are not that good, and there have been a few glitches already in this fledgling relationship, more of that another day. But for now….
Last night we went out for a pub meal with 3 other couples, who already know him, but have never met me before. I obviously have no idea what to expect, but I’m dressed in black leggings, black tunic dress, cowboy type boots and leather jacket. My hair looks reasonably bobbed and I’ve gone for the smokey eyes and red lippy look.
To be fair, it’s pretty much my normal, every – day look, I’ve neither dressed up, or down.
So I rock up in the car park, the man is there, and we go into the pub together.
One couple have already arrived, and so meet and greet the man warmly, and he introduces me, they say ‘Hello, nice to meet you’ and, so do I. It is indeed all very ‘nice’.
By the time we’ve been to the bar and got our first drink, the other couples have arrived so now there is a greeting fest going on, and everyone is very pleased to meet everyone else.
It’s still all very ‘nice’.
I get seated between the new man, and another lady, we are all around the same age, but I feel from the get go that they really won’t ‘get’ me.
And I’m right.
Food choices are made, orders taken, and so everyone is now free to chat uninterrupted. So they do, but not to me!
Now I don’t know about you, but I’ll talk to anyone, I’ll ask questions, and engage with people in a supermarket queue, a lift, on the train, absolutely anywhere and I’m happy to respond to any questions that may, in turn, be thrown my way. Except last night, they weren’t throwing any
Despite my frequent attempts to engage, the established group of ladies clearly preferred to talk amongst themselves, which I thought was incredibly rude.
At one point, I did manage to comment how gay weddings were usually the most stylish, but you’d have thought I’d told them I’d got a bad attack of head lice.
Mouths curled up at the edges and there was a discernable shaking of heads.
I won’t lie, they did talk to the group generally, but nobody included me in their conversations, or asked me anything about myself, you know those obvious questions like, where are you from, where do you work, how did you two meet, and things I’d sure as heck ask if a newly available man rocked up with someone like me!
I mean, if they HAD eventually asked me what I did, I was intending to use my shock tactic and say I was a writer of erotica, and, if they HAD eventually asked me if I’d done anything nice last week, I was going to truthfully tell them that I’d had some fantastic conversations with some of my own feisty, fab friends, including one who was telling me about a sexy tryst she’d had with a complete stranger, one who was planning a sexy tryst with a sexy Frenchman, and one who was amusing me with details of how one of her mates had enjoyed an unexpected, but perfectly friendly gang bang in a former life.
You won’t be surprised to read that I found all that far more interesting than ‘are we having a starter or a pudding’ which was about as much as the incredibly dull damsels in the pub could amuse me with.
So, what did I do?
Well, after arriving at the allotted hour of 7.30, and after feeling like Polly no Pals for far longer than I deserved, I shovelled my dinner down, and at 10.15 as soon as the last spoonful of meringue left my mouth, I picked up my bag, smiled ever so sweetly, and said as insincerely as I possibly could, ‘it was lovely meeting you’, and with 7 pairs of eyes following me, I flounced out the door, and buggered off home for a nice cup of tea and a cuddle with the dog.
Do you think I was right to be a tad pissed off at their rudeness?