So I went on a date with a 40 year old. I can’t really explain what made me do this, but the fact that every text I received prior to the date from Sav had caused me to pull an involuntary grimace even in some cases causing a gag reflex, probably should have been a good enough indicator to stop me going. It was probably curiosity that made me do it. But then again, curiosity killed the cat.
I had met him at my bestie Bey’s engagement party, Sav had been her fiancé’s boss. I accidentally flirted with him when, after one too many glasses of wine, I expressed shock at the fact he was retired, telling him I thought he was only 25. I woke up the next day to a facebook message, asking if I was always so charming, and it went from there.
Sav is, self-proclaimed, the Uk’s Richest Homeless Person. After an amazing career in medicine, he retired a few years ago, and has been travelling the world ever since, with no fixed abode. A very cool guy, but not physically my type at all, perhaps this is because he has 17 years on me.
As a date he was very, very lovely. I think the difference between going out with a guy in their 20s and a “real” Grown-Up is that the older ones know how to talk: in terms of conversation it was probably the best date I’ve ever been on. Unfortunately, I fall into the younger category, and I was trying so hard to impress this clever doctor, but was also SO tipsy from one glass of wine on a desperately hungry stomach, that I confused even myself when I was trying to explain MY OWN dissertation, contradicting myself about three times. He didn’t seem to care or even notice, I guess when a 40 year old takes a 23 year old out, their main concern isn’t their dates mind or eloquence.
So we had a few drinks in a few different places, and I was starting to think I could get along with this.. until he held my hand from across the table. I don’t think I will ever be able to do this moment justice by explaining it. I was in the middle of telling him that my most impressive talent is my skill for wiping bums (don’t ask, nursing life), and must have been gesticulating wildly, because no sooner had I flung my right hand on to the table, than he had grasped it, in a romantic manner, and at the precise moment that I was saying the words: “wiping bums”. The state of panic in my head hit emergency level, all I could think was “Oh my days. We’re holding hands. He’s breached the body contact barrier. More is yet to come”, and externally, this panic led to me word vomiting about how good I am at dealing with poo. I wonder if he could see the terror in my face, he is a trained Psychiatrist after all.
The initial shock of this ordeal died down, and I then realised that my hand was trapped, not only could I not drink my wine, but I felt like I’d been transported back 10 years, to one of those awkward cinema dates. In which your beau puts his arm around you, and despite this being a more uncomfortable position than most in even the Karma Sutra, you can’t reshuffle, for the awkward, self-conscious cloak surrounding your youth, and thus manage to hold said uncomfortable position, for the entire film, with yogi-like mind power and strength.
So about 20 minutes of gruelling hand-caressing later, I’m hit with the next bombshell. With no warning, Sav leans across the table, going for a very confident first kiss. I’m not opposed to kissing on a first date, but normally if I do, it’s just a peck (a Sims level: Tender Kiss) right at the end when we say goodbye. But this was something else. Panic levels went through the roof. And I promise you, you can’t reject a kiss from across a table, it’s too damn awkward. If they’ve managed to glide their head a good two feet over the gap between you, you can’t possibly avoid it. That would be more cringe than just letting them kiss you. But this wasn’t just a kiss. This was a snog. This was Sims Passionate Kiss level. There were tongues, so much tongues. If only I could have recorded the internal monologue that was going off in my head, essentially a power battle between: “Stop the kiss now! He’s 40 and this is way too steamy” and “Don’t you dare stop kissing him until you think of something to say in the awkward interlude which will inevitably follow when this kiss ends”.
I wish I could say this was the only snog of the night. But it definitely wasn’t. And each and every snog that followed was as cringe as the first.
The date eventually came to an end, and the R&R began. I got straight in contact with Bey, spilling all the gory details of the kiss, and how much of a surprise it had been, only to get the response “I knew he’d get you, he’s too smooth. 40 years of smoothness”. Thanks Bey. Ultimately, although I liked him as a person, I could never get over the fact that he’s 40. So for now, I’ll just have to let him down gently, and deal with the aftermath at the wedding in a years time.