There’s nothing easy about a first date. Awkward conversation, trying to find common ground to talk about, worrying about accidentally insulting or offending the other person with your wackadoodle world views. The uncertainty of what they’re feeling (‘you like me, you really like me! Oh, you don’t. That’s cool bro.’) and what they’re thinking (in my case, it’s usually along the lines of “get me the fuck out of here”).
You know what makes a first date even harder? When you have assholes at the next table obnoxiously laughing their asses off. Not only does this make it difficult for you to concentrate on what your date is saying but it puts unnecessary pressure on your first date – why aren’t we laughing like that? Why aren’t we laughing at all? Ha ha ha, insert nervous laughter here.
Yes, my friends, I was one of those laughing assholes last night. And it was awesome.
So, my friend and I went to the pub for dinner and drinks and we got there at the same time this dude did and ended up sitting at the table next to him. We’re chatting and laughing and having a grand ol’ time and he’s just sitting there all by his lonesome. Whatevs, we assumed he was meeting a buddy. A few minutes later, he goes outside and brings back in a chick.
The waitress comes over to grab them drinks. Chick orders a water. Dude orders a water.
They begin to peruse their menus and my friend hears the chick say “I don’t know what I’m going to eat, everything here is so gross”.
It’s a fucking pub you princess! And a decent one at that. The food is pretty good and on Monday’s it’s $2 burgers! $10 says she’s freakin vegan.
Time passes. They chat. We laugh really loudly. I swear copiously and, in my excitement, accidentally create a new swear word: Twunt = twat + cunt. Then we start telling each other dead baby jokes (as in “What’s the difference between a dead baby and a trampoline? You take your boots off to jump on a trampoline!!!!”).
Those lovebirds heard at least three things last night that I’d bet good money they wish they could unhear.
Their meals arrive and, you guessed it, she got a salad! Dressing on the side. The salad came with garlic bread and the dude had to remove the offending carbohydrates from her plate – you can’t touch that shit, calories are absorbed through the skin! He, however, ordered a solid pound of beef wrapped in bacon, chicken wings, deep fried babies, a pint of beer and all things manly and testosterone laden.
He got the same salad. He also ordered dressing on the side, as well as his balls.
The happy couple ended their night with a hug at the chick’s car and then they went their separate ways – that’s right, we followed them out. While, in our professionally single opinions, we feel they’re not suited as a long term couple, we’re pretty sure the dude is gonna call the chick for a second date. If he could, he’d just call her boobs for a second date and leave her out of it, but science has only come so far in that regards.