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Provided with the tools that could turn a retirement home into the best Saturday night of your life (vodka, scrumpy and beer pong) my prospects were as high as a cow on a cannabis plantation.
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Nice guy, we start talking and he mentions he’s not a big drinker as I order my second glass of wine and think back to the scrumpy I just drank – oops.
The night goes on and we’re running through our tab.
Next thing I know he’s stripping down to his undies and hopping in my bed.
All I’ll say is that I woke up with my socks still on so you know it was a good night.
We keep talking and after ten times of us each asking, “what???
” we realize we’re both literally screaming across the table at each other because the band was so damn loud.
I show up, the lady points me to my date and my first thought was, “thank God he’s attractive”.
Nothing like a head of curls and a muscle-hugging white tee to get the juices flowing.
Being a keen reader of the blind date, I thought why not give it a crack.
With a few casual emails exchanged to Critic, it was organised that I was to meet at the Dog With Two Tails at 8.30pm on a Thursday.
We get the awkward small talk out of the way and get into the deeper stuff after we’ve both had a few to drink.