Slamming the taxi door shut and yelling ‘Drive!’ at the driver, I knew my night had reached its dramatic conclusion. I had just firmly, yet politely, refused a kiss from my date and was making a swift escape. As the cab pulled away, I grabbed my phone to relay the unbelievable events of the evening to my housemates. Safe to say, my night had been an unmitigated disaster.
The Meet-Cute That Led to a Texting Lull
Back in the early 2010s, I was a fresh-faced student navigating the real world for the first time. One Thursday night, this journey led me to a dark basement bar where my path crossed with Jake’s*. He was smartly dressed in a suit – a clear sign he wasn't a student – and had a mop of curls. After some rom-com-esque fleeting eye contact, he managed to slip a scrap of paper with his number into my hand as I passed by. Swiping right was a distant dream back then.
The lack of pervasive social media meant I couldn't stalk his profile before messaging. Our initial meet-cute seemed promising enough to take a chance. Unfortunately, the chemistry we had at the bar was severely lacking over text. His replies were often single-word answers, devoid of any witty repartee. Despite the red flags, my naïve optimism led me to agree to meet him the following weekend.
A Night Out With Mum and Auntie
I had hoped for a special first date, perhaps dinner and drinks. But when Friday evening arrived with no word from Jake, I feared he had stood me up. Swallowing my pride, I texted him. His reply was a crushing: ‘I forgot and I’m in the pub with my friends.’ After a pang of disappointment, he surprised me by inviting me to join them. Thinking it could be fun, I agreed.
I expected a gaggle of lads, but I was more than a little confused to find him with two middle-aged women. ‘This is my mum and auntie,’ Jake said, as I struggled to keep my jaw from hitting the floor. They were welcoming, and Jake acted as if this was completely normal. Against my better judgement, I decided to stay in an attempt to be open-minded.
It quickly became clear that Jake and I had even less in common than I thought. We didn't stay long at the pub – just long enough for me to politely buy a round of drinks for all four of us, despite my student budget. At his aunt's request, we moved to a different bar. During the short journey, Jake informed me just how drunk they all were. He attempted to hold my hand several times, but I stayed out of morbid curiosity to see where the night would lead.
The Ick Sets In and The Great Escape
When we reached the new bar, things escalated from bad to downright creepy. As I sipped a watered-down vodka and orange, his aunt repeatedly put her hand on my thigh in a move I found over-friendly, repeatedly squirming away. Then, the main event began. Jake’s mum started grinding aggressively on him and dropping-it-like-it-was-hot on a nearby pole. The ‘ick’ feeling firmly set in.
Mercifully, after a few stumbles and a spilt drink, the bouncer asked her to leave, and we all followed. It was only 9pm. I seized my chance, mumbling an excuse about an early start and hurrying towards the taxi queue. As I slid into the back seat of a cab, Jake leaned in for a kiss. I quickly swerved, pushed him firmly out, and yelled at the driver to go in a dramatic, movie-style exit.
I assumed the message was received. But to my astonishment, at 7am the next morning, a text arrived. It wasn't an apology. ‘Morning beautiful, we should do that again!’ he wrote. He genuinely thought the date had gone well. Ghosting wasn't really a thing back then, but that's exactly what I did. I never saw or heard from him again. For my next date, I made sure I knew the basics about the person beforehand – and luckily, there were no drunk mums or aunties in sight.
*Names have been changed.
