‘You have to have a funny story!’
‘A funny story?’
‘Yep – you have to have a great conversation opener on a first date that makes him think you are just the most entertaining, gorgeous person in the world.’
(Oh god. It’s going to have to be on the rib-cracking side of the hilarity scale in that case.)
‘I don’t have a funny story.
‘Make one up then.’
I know what you’re thinking… crazy, right? Don’t do it. Very, very stupid idea!
Well all I can say is that I wish I had because what ensued was nothing short of a nightmare. I think the pressure of having to come across as some kind of Helen-of-Troy-Michael-McIntyre combo got the better of me, and instead of making up a funny (yet endearing) anecdote, I got confused and unleashed the truthful and humiliating fury on myself.
The formalities were over, drinks were in hand, and I’d managed to keep it together so far (even I can handle the ‘Hey!-How-are -you-doing?’ bit).
‘So, what have you got up to this week?’
Now that is a normal question if ever I heard one. So why the hell could I not come up with something normal in return?
Before I could stop myself, I heard the words ‘Well, it’s funny you should ask…’ drop from my mouth. NO! No. It’s not funny! It’s really not at all.
‘We had our Christmas Bop last weekend and I was rocking [oh my god, I just said ‘rocking’] the most amazing costume!’
I was having an out-of-body experience: Sane Me beating the glass bubble surrounding my Inner Freak screaming, ‘Please shut the fuck up!’
But no, Inner Freak was on a roll…
‘Yeah, I decided to cover myself in chocolates and sweets [is that even a costume?!], except I got sooooo drunk at pre-drinks that I passed out in my corridor…’
…and just one more nail in the coffin lid:
‘And when I woke up in the morning, all the chocolate had melted and it looked like I’d shat myself.’
Hilarious. Call me?
He didn’t.
