‘You’re a total moron!’ I yelled across the table, in a fancy French bistro.
I don’t usually show my feelings on a first date – I prefer to be polite, later deciding how I feel about the person when I’m alone.
However, when I’m hammered, I’m a different person.
My date Alex had started ranting about Covid conspiracy theories, and I couldn’t hold it in. Gesticulating to the entire room, I loudly called him a moron for believing that stuff.
As far as I can recall, he took it on the chin, but I was dimly aware the date had taken a distinct turn for the worst.
It seems that my confused drunken state was all that saved me from total awkwardness.
I hadn’t had much luck with dating apps and was ready to give up when I matched with Alex.
He hadn’t written much on his Bumble profile, but there were a few things in his favour – there were pictures of him out hiking, he had good taste in music, and most importantly he was hot.
Our pre-date chat was nothing to write home about – I wondered if it would just be another match that fizzled out.
But, out of the blue, he asked me out a few weeks later.
Why not, I thought.
A night out with a muscly Eastern European guy was a better prospect than trawling through Netflix yet again for something to watch.
I felt a bit nervous as I knew so little about him, but it was nice to have something to get excited about.
I arrived early, still anxious, but when Alex got there, he was all smiles. He looked like his picture, was on time and seemed pleased to see me. I immediately relaxed.
He ordered mountains of food and lashings of wine for the table at our French bistro, offering to pay for everything.
The dates I had in the weeks leading up to this had guys drinking only water, or squeezing me in for a quick coffee before dashing off to see friends. My confidence had taken a knock from this brutal world of internet dating – especially when you have such little time to make an impression.
But here was someone who was prepared to make an evening of it – I was pleased that Alex was being this generous.
It wasn’t until I got up to go to the loo however, that I realised he had maybe been a bit too generous with the booze.
Alex persistently topping up my glass had left me unsteady on my feet, not helped by the fact that I don’t usually drink much and am a massive lightweight.
When I wobbled back to the table, he made a joke about deliberately getting me drunk. I laughed nervously, but I did not find it funny.
Worse, another bottle of wine was arriving.
It was too late to sober up, but I started fruitlessly drinking water chasers with every glass.
I was trying to follow the conversation but he made lecherous remarks about it turning into a good night, since I was so tipsy – but it was hitting a bum note.
He talked so much that I struggled to get a word in. The conversation turned to lockdown, and when he told me he thought the pandemic was not real, the words just exploded out of me before I had the chance to stop them.
After insulting him, I decided I would stay until the end of the evening, but probably not see him again.
Half-heartedly aiming to get something out of his night, Alex offered to walk me to the station and put his arm around me as we went. It seemed he thought there was still a chance we were going home together.
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In an attempt to escape this awkward situation, I clumsily ran off to catch the last train although by this point, I was truly wasted and remember little of the journey home.
The train ride was a blur, but I think I was singing out loud to Taylor Swift on my headphones at some point.
Some hours later, I woke up in my living room with my face stuck to my beanbag.
I was thankfully alone, but a big light glared into my eyes. It was 4am, and I had been listening to the same Taylor Swift album on Spotify on loop for three hours. I trundled off to bed, already feeling less than chipper.
Needless to say, my hangover the next day was of Biblical proportions and lasted two days.
Made worse by realising that I left a £400 pair of glasses on that train, which made it an expensive night despite not paying for anything.
I kept checking my phone as the days went on and I recovered physically and mentally from the evening with Alex.
But thankfully I never heard from him again.
I guess he really didn’t like being called a moron.
So, How Did It Go?
So, How Did It Go? is a weekly Metro.co.uk series that will make you cringe with second-hand embarrassment or ooze with jealousy as people share their worst and best date stories.
Want to spill the beans about your own awkward encounter or love story? Contact jess.austin@metro.co.uk
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