Whisks, Wine & Weird Men, Episode 4

You know when you're genuinely excited for a date?

You've had great chat.

The banter is there.

You've laughed out loud at your phone more than once.

And you think...

Okay.

This could be fun.

Well.

This is the story of the date that taught me something very important:

Too much excitement can be a red flag.

The Set Up

I met Andy on a dating app.

He was from Bristol.

On paper he seemed really fun, he was an actor, he loved traveling, had loads of stories, and he was genuinely funny over text.

We got on really well.

We arranged to meet for dinner one evening at a local Thai place.

Perfect.

Thai food we both loved, good atmosphere, easy vibes.

Then he told me he was getting the train in to stroud because he didnt drive.

And immediately, in my head, I thought:

How is that going to work long term?

We hadn't even met yet, and I was already rearranging train timetables like we were planning a future.

To be fair, I do have a gift of overthinking scenarios that haven't happened.. but still, this was a first date.

So I parked it.

The Arrival

I was waiting outside the restaurant when I spotted him across the road.

He wasn't running.

He also wasn't walking normally.

He was sort of.. bounding.

There were other people waiting to cross, and he did this little side step bounce behind them, left to right, waving at me like he was in a stage show.

Then he started singing.

Full volume. No warning.

I remember thinking this isn't spontaneous joy.

This is pressure release.

Like he had so much energy inside him that it needed somewhere to go... and it had chosen show tunes

It was givng musical theatre golden retriever energy.

And I remember thinking:

Oh no.

This is a weird energy already.

The Greeting

He finally crossed the road and it went something like this:

"Hi! Hi!! Omg hey!! How are you ?!! OMG... omg.... omg. look at you... wow...wow...you're so beautiful.... wow.....WOW!

Before I'd even processed the volume...

He cupped my face in both hands,

Outside the Thai restaurant.

In public.

Like we were in the final scene of a film.

And I had apparently missed the first 90 minutes of plot.

I just stood there thinking:

Oh my God.

What is happening.

Not in a swoony way.

In a logistical way.

We had not earned face cupping.

The Restaurant

We went into the restaurant and I told myself:

Okay. He's nervous. He'll calm down in a minute.

He did not calm down.

Not even slightly.

He talked... and talked ... and talked.

About himself.

Acting. Travel. Food. Stories. More stories. Even more stories.

It wasn't a conversation.

It was a one man show..

And the whole time he was eating like he was trying to break a personal record.

Now those of you who remember Rory will already know I have an eating issue..

I don't want to see what you're chewing. I don't want to hear it. I definitely don't want to be lightly misted with bits of dinner while you perform your life story at speed.

At one point he was mid sentence, mid mouthful, still going at full volume, and I realised:

I know his five year plan...

... and he doesn't actually know anything about me.

Because I had not spoken.

I asked one question.

He answered it for about eleven minutes.

I remember sitting there thinking.... Right.

And then something else happened. I mentally started planning fake phone calls.

Not because he was awful.

Because he wasn't.

Because I realised I wasn't on a date anymore..

I was waiting for it to end.

And worse, I hadn't even been savvy enough to set up a rescue text with a friend.

You know the one. The pre arranged emergency call.

"HI babe, sorry, the dog's eaten something again and we're at the vet."

I had nothing.

No code word.

No escape plan.

Just politeness... and another glass of wine.

I'd gone in optimistic.

Unprotected.

Socially trapped by my own manners.

I smiled.

Nodded.

And mentally apologised to Future Me

The Walk

After dinner we went for a walk around town.

I did think:

Maybe the cold air will calm him down.

Maybe the fresh night air will bring his energy down to a normal human level.

It did not.

He stayed at the same intensity.

The same tempo.

The same... musical theatre energy.

The Kiss

And then... the kiss.

Now I could feel it coming.

I knew it was going to happen.

And I thought to myself:

Right.

This is only my second date ever since getting back out there.

I was a still in my give him a chance era.

In my head I thought:

Maybe this is it.

Maybe he's one of the men who kisses like they're about to ruin your life in the best way.

Reader.

No.

he asked, very politely, if he could kiss me.

I said okay.

And then i watched him mentally prepare for it.

Like... I actually watched him do it.

He took a few deep breaths.

A pause.

A slow motion lean in.

Hands ready to cup my face again.

The expression of intense romantic intention...

Like he was about to deliver a closing scene monologue.

And the kiss itself?

So... much.

Very wet.

Very enthusiastic.

Like an excited Labrador who's just been told they're a very good boy.

I remember thinking straight after:

Right.

That's enough of that.

I suddenly understood why people fake phone calls.

The Moment He Finally Felt My Energy

Here's the thing though.

He didn't seem to notice my energy all evening.

Not really.

It was like he was so busy performing, he couldn't actually feel the date.

it wasn't until we got back to my car, when things finally went quieter, that I could feel him clock it.

That shift.

the moment where he realised:

Oh.

She's not in this with me.

And honestly?

I felt awful.

Because he clearly liked me.

But I felt drained.

Not flattered.

Drained.

Which I've learned is rarely a good thing after a first kiss.

I got into my car, shut the door, and sat in silence.

Which after three solid hours of uninterrupted monologue, felt like a spiritual experience.

The Aftermath

I messaged him when I got home, softly, kindly, because I'm not cruel and I didn't want to hurt him.

And then the paragraphs started.

Long ones.

The kind you have to scroll.

Sad.

Angry.

Emotional.

And this is where America entered the chat.

He told me he'd already messaged his best friend in America...and told him that we'd be visiting together.

I put my phone down.

Picked it back up again.

Read it again.

Sorry.

WHAT?

We'd had one date.

One.

And then came the line that really got under my skin:

"I feel like I'm being punished for falling in love with you."

Love.

After one date where I couldn't get a word in and got hit by flying pad thai.

And suddenly the guilt hit me, because that's what women do, isn't it?

We try to soften it.

We try to be kind.

We try not to hurt anyone.

But I also felt annoyed.

Because don't build a whole future in your head...

... and then hand me the responsibility for it.

The Lesson

So that was Andy. He isn't a bad man

he wasn't evil.

But he was operating at a level of intensity I don't want to live with.

Chemistry isn't volume.

It isn't speed.

It isn't someone sprinting ahead and then blaming you for not keeping up.

Real connection has pace.

Groundness.

Space.

And silence that feels easy.

Because if I leave a date feeling drained...

And oddly responsible for someone else's emotions...

something in me switches off.

For me this isn't romance.

If it feels like labour.

And I'm no longer dating to become someone's emotional project.

Anyway... Stay Tuned

I genuinely thought that was dramatic at the time.

Reader.

We hadn't even left the shallow end.

Welcome to the swamp.

🐸