Eyebrows And Not Dating.

As with many of my previous posts, I am again writing about a date.

I got chatting to this lovely bloke from Rugby. Apres date, I am still of the opinion that he really is a lovely bloke - which is unusual.

The conversation started with a load of "pick one" questions, like "Curry or Chinese", "Summer or Winter" etc etc. I thought that this was hilarious, and certainly different from the usual "Hi, how are you" or, "hi, will you take your clothes off please" standard opening lines, and I simply had to answer. There was no other choice. And then I had to think about a whole load of questions to reply with. Which is actually a lot harder than it looks...

So anyway, after discovering that this guy has a penchant for Arthouse Independant Films, likes his steak medium and prefers pubs to bars, we got chatting. So far so good. He seemed funny, intelligent, kind and chatty.

So, after putting up a bit of a fight, I agreed to a date, despite having worked out the fact that I am definitely NOT looking for a relationship of any kind. Dating isn't really a relationship though, so I figured it'd be fine.

I started preparing for this date on Saturday. I had decided to get my eyebrows waxed by someone who knows what they're doing, rather than doing it myself, as I usually do. Really pulling out the stops for this one.

So I popped in at about lunch time, having booked the appointment the day before on my way home from work, bursting in at about 6:30 and being confronted by a woman; who, although lovely, didn't speak a word of English. So she may not have been lovely at all. I'm just choosing to interpret it as lovely.

Anyway, on the Saturday, I went back in to find another woman, who was just as lovely and had a few more English words in her vocabulary (although only a VERY few) who took me through to a back room. At this point I'm a tad worried about whether I've come to a beauty parlour or... another type of parlour. Involving possible prostitution. I was wondering what I'd booked myself in for. All I can tell you is that it was definitely a parlour.

The woman whips out her wax from god knows where, and approaches the bed where I am laying feeling extremely apprehensive about what it is she thinks she is waxing...

"Thick or thin?" she asks. "Medium" I reply. Apparently medium was NOT in her vocab. Neither was "Middle", "Intermediate", "Average" or "Between". I ended up settling with "Thick".

It has been a LONG time since I last got my eyebrows done at a salon. I had forgotten that it hurts far less when you do it yourself.

The feel of the warm wax going on was lovely and relaxing. I had let all the stresses and strains of the last week drift away while I enjoyed this little piece of luxury. And then she yanked.

I swear to god, it felt like my face was on fire. WHAT WAS IN THAT WAX?!?! Superglue?!? I am sure she took several layers of skin with the strip. At the time, of course, I had to sit still, and pretend like I was hard. Even though my eyes were streaming and I kept having to sniff because my nose had started to run. I WASN'T crying.

I managed, with a huge amount of courage and perseverance, to sit through it all until the last strip was gone. I believe she then did a bit of threading, something I've never had done before. I asked her but she just looked at me like I was mooing or something, so I gave up.

I was finally free, and about to sit up and run out of the room so I could find somewhere to cry about my lack of skin around the eyebrows privately, when she said "Top lip very hairy. You have remove?"

Now, I KNOW that my top lip is NOT hairy. and what's more, if it was, it'd be impossible to tell anyway, I'm ginger ffs, it is practically invisible in small quantities. Did I say this? Did I heck. I am incapable of saying "no" to bloody anyone, even if that person is subjecting me to extreme eyebrow torture.

So I say, "Oh, yes, that'd be lovely, thanks!", like a twat, and before I know it, my top lip is being paid the same kind of attention as the eyebrows. Surprisingly, I found that this hurt MORE than the eyebrows.

By the time I managed to escape (after almost losing my downstairs hair, but I drew the line at that) I was swollen and almost blinded by my running eyes (I STILL wasn't crying!).

When I made it back home I had a look in the mirror. and actually, the eyebrows were a good shape. her version of thin must be TINY.

The downside was that my face was puffy and red in odd places. I had to wait about 2 hours for it to all go back to normal before I could pop out to Narbs to pick up some crafty stuff and condoms (better safe than sorry kids ;)) managing to return with crafty stuff and forgetting the condoms (do what I say, not what I do).

The evening was spent at Sexie Lexie's Birthday do, although I had to leave early as I am faaar too out of practice when it comes to hardcore partying (how lame am I?) but I didn't have time to work up many "pre-date nerves".

Next morning, I woke in  a panic. The Flat was a mess from the crafting stuff I'd been doing the day before, I needed to shower, sort hair, face and make a final decision on what I was wearing that day... all things that take girls an average of three days to complete.

Somehow I managed it, except for the tidying part. I did some washing up though, so I was relatively pleased with myself.

As we were meeting at Tescos (managed to grab those condoms, yay me!) I headed out the door in my little heels (I so love those shoes. and every other pair of shoes I own...) and trotted off, getting there about a minute ahead of schedule and feeling pleased that I had had no major incidents (e.g. locking self in corridor, falling on face on dance floor, accidentally breaking anyone's nose... the list goes on) along the way. I was feeling pretty cocky, right up to the point where I actually had to behave like a relatively normal person. As you are all very aware, I am not capable of normality. Stupidity, over-excitement, ditziness (is that a word?), mentalness, yes. I can do all of those. Normality? Pffft. Nope.

Nevertheless, I think I managed quite well. We headed back to mine, I had an awesome time, he was chatty, friendly, funny, interesting (thank fuck), intelligent, etc, etc. Most importantly, he was.... NOT MENTAL. Yup. You heard me. I'm posting about a guy who WASN'T mental. Sorry to disappoint.

We spent a while chatting (really amused about the aggressive/antagonistic drunk stories. - "Would you like a drink? Cuz you're looking poor..." LMAO!) and getting to know each other. Ahem.

After all the fun at mine we decided to pop to that awesome restaurant on Narbs that does the awesome cheap 3 course meals. That's two awesomes, because it is so AWESOME. As he'd read my blog he complained bitterly about not having any coupons (Crazy Lloyd, for those of you who remember. Those who don't, you need to get yourself checked for Alzheimers; he was unforgettable. He haunts my nightmares.) before being completely awed by the price. Not surprisingly. £4.95 for three courses!!! And free poppadoms! Can't go wrong with that, can you?

By the time we'd eaten and got back to mine, we were both knackered (although I wasn't falling asleep on the sofa :P) and before I knew it he was heading off home.

To be perfectly honest, if I wasn't well aware of the fact that I am not in any way ready for a relationship yet, I'd be snapping this guy up. Whoever catches him is one lucky lady.

One more thing, You guys have probably noticed that I give most of the people I talk about nicknames, such as "The Mothership", "Crazy Lloyd", etc etc. And I had to do a lot of thinking about this one because "nice" sounds bland and boring, and this he was not, "funny" might mean funny in the head, etc etc.

So after a lot of thinking, I came up with one that I HOPE he will find funny (if not, text me and I can rethink!) - Mr Cocksure. To be fair, he has good reason. ;)

P.S. My top lip still feels weird.