Sarah and Pete
We’re back! No gays this week, sadly, but we do have Sarah, 30, a comedian and Pete, 32, professional beard owner who also has a sideline as an occupational therapy assistant. Read what happened on the date before we take a closer look at the all-important answers to the not-very-important questions.
Here, Sarah falls foul of the silent killer that has destroyed many of my food-based dates – hunger fear. Perhaps, like me, she’d rather order too much and not eat it all than stare longingly at her dining partner’s plate, wishing some of his cauliflower would float over to hers. We’ve all been there, Sarah, you were right to check. No points deducted. I’m with you.
*rolls eyes along fence and back* Thanks for dropping by, Pete. What, nothing? No awkward moments at all? Not even when Sarah appeared to have an unhealthy obsession over the vegetables? You didn’t think that was weird? Not one cringeworthy moment? If you were in the Celebrity Big Brother house, Katie Hopkins would be calling you “magnolia” and telling you to “own it” and all sorts of other phrases she read in a business management book from 1987. Disappointing.
OK, never mind, because it’s table manners time. Sarah’s a comedian, remember, so I hope she at least put some cheese up her nose.
My only hope is that Sarah is in some subtle way telling us that Pete ate his meal with all the grace of a JCB trying to pick up a maki roll.
Pete, are you trying to tell me that you had three of the most difficult, inelegant, irritating things to eat – pretty much all the things you would avoid if you wanted to have any hope of someone kissing you at the end of the night – and there were NO awkward moments? Not one AWFUL joke about oysters being aphrodisiacs? Not a single stray lobster claw twanged across the room and into the lap of a diner sitting five tables away? Not a solitary cringe at your crab, which smells like a baby’s nappy at the best of times? Nothing? No? Can we get someone to check this man’s pulse?
Sarah sounds bored out of her fucking mind. I expected her answers to be a bit funnier than this. Perhaps she didn’t have much to work with. Waiter, the bill, please. Oh, hang on…
No. NO. You’re on a date, you shouldn’t… Why do people do this? “Oh, it’s January, I’m on a detox; I’ll just have a little sip of your wine.”
“Well, I’m supposed to be on a diet, really, but I can just nick a couple of your spuds, I guess.”
And on and on it goes. Why can’t you just order some chips and, if you only want to eat seven, leave the rest or perhaps donate them to charity? Because now Pete is seven chips down and that’s a big thing to recover from. Just. Keep. Your. Fingers. To. Your. Side. Of. The. Table. No wonder Pete marked Sarah a 7 and slung a “platonically, sure” at her in his last answer.
Get out. That’s not how it works. Cop-out. No way. One more humdinger from Sarah:
“From taking public transport, then eating with my hands” – not only is Sarah a comedian, she’s a doctor too. I’m sure there are a million other ways you get norovirus, but if it makes you feel better that it was an innocent old handrail, that gave you the Technicolor squits, so be it.
This means that not only did Sarah steal some of Pete’s hard-earned chips, she did it with fingers absolutely leaping with norovirus. Has anyone been round to Pete’s to see whether he’s still got his stomach lining?
Pete, with your refusal to say anything was awkward – you didn’t even complain about the chip theft – despite everything, you win this one, because at least you know how to score. Sarah, I’m disappointed.
Apparently, these two go to the same comedy club. Sadly, they don’t say which one, but I imagine it will be the one where nobody ever laughs. Not even at an airborne lobster claw.
Photograph: James Drew Turner for the Guardian