After breaking up with a long-term boyfriend, I spent a lot of time on Tinder dates. It was a distraction and stopped me from focusing too much on the hurt.
I wasn’t looking for a serious relationship, so when I matched with a gentleman we’ll call Pete, I had zero expectations.
Pete and I chatted for a few days before agreeing to meet up at a pub. I arrived at the pub a few minutes early, and was surprised to find him already there. That was a good start. He had a nice checked shirt on, and he had a lovely smile. I could tell that he was nervous, but so was I, so it didn’t matter.
Most Tinder dates I’ve been on end up being like a strange job interview where you fire off questions and answer them in a series. Not this one. I couldn’t believe it but we had actual, real conversation. I instantly felt comfortable with him, and we talked and talked away until closing time. He was warm, funny, relatable and we had so much in common.
At the end of the night, he walked me to the bus stop, both of us reeling at how well things had gone. He asked me right away if I’d like to go out again, and I said yes.
Cue 2nd date.
Pete had told me that he was going to organise it all, and that it would be a surprise. I wouldn’t have usually gone in for this, but something about how well the first date had gone meant that I went along with it. I was a bit giddy with excitement.
We met outside a tube and walked for a few minutes until we reached an Indian food stall in a vibrant neighbourhood in South London. I’d mentioned how much I loved Indian food on our first date, so this was another great start.
Then came the awkward bit. I’d also made the mistake of talking about my childhood hobby of ice skating on the first date. It was just a passing comment, and I hadn’t ice skated for years due to knee problems, so I definitely wasn’t hinting at anything. But post-lunch Pete had booked us tickets to an expensive skate rink nearby, and I didn’t really feel as though now was the moment to tell him that I didn’t skate anymore.
He was a very thoughtful person — a romantic even, and I know that he had wanted to plan the “perfect” date. What he’d failed to think about was his own skating ability. If you haven’t ice skated before, it can take a while before you feel comfortable on your feet, and you may end up falling over a fair few times until you get the hang of it.
The second we entered the rink, Pete’s legs slipped from underneath him and he fell flat on his back. This was not part of his master plan, and I felt a bit sorry for him as I helped him up. He was a lot taller than me and quite big and broad, so helping him up wasn’t easy.
No bother, I told him, that always happens. It was at this moment that he admitted that he’d never been ice skating before.
We tried to start moving again, Pete clinging to the edge as I glided alongside him slowly. He did one of these comedy moments where his legs went to jelly and he tried to right himself, only making it worse, and found himself on the floor again. As he tried to get up, he fell again. I tried to give him some advice, but he didn’t really want to hear it. He’d wanted to float along holding hands and looking graceful.
I helped him up again and told him that this always happened to beginners (why on earth had he thought that he’d just be able to do it off the bat?!). He pulled himself together and managed to get a few more steps across the ice until he fell again, this time trying to grab onto me to get his balance back. I wasn’t very happy about that because I was already worried about my knees. I wasn’t planning on going down with him and let him get to his own feet this time.
Why don’t I show you what to do? I asked him. Because by this point, it was frankly embarrassing standing there, knowing how to skate, when he could barely go two steps. I demonstrated. Then I pushed off, did a quick lap of the rink, and got back to him to see what the progress was.
It was nothing. Zilch. He could not get the hang of it, wouldn’t dare let go of the side. Now he had a few bruises for his efforts, but the most badly bruised was his ego.
He asked if we could take a break and then try again, so we exited the rink (him clinging onto the barriers for dear life, not having made even a single lap of the rink). I was tempted to zip around a few more times, but I feared that would be really rubbing it in. So we sat on the seats at the side, in silence looking on at all the happy, red faces as they circled around the rink.
Our time slot on the rink slowly ticked by, and he made no effort to try again. He sat deflated, slumped in the red plastic chairs by the side. I tried to make some conversation to buoy him up again, but it was clear that our initial good energy had slipped away and as we made our way out of the rink, I suddenly discovered I had other things that I needed to attend to.
I was relieved when he didn’t try and message me again.
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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Photo credit: freestocks on Unsplash
