Shocker Date...run, run, as fast as you can...in stilettos!

"Sweetie, you've got to get out of those wedges and sex things up a bit."

It was sage advice from a much-admired friend in the office that got me all feverish and planning for a significant Friday night date.

I had been "seeing" an international man of mystery for a few months and it had been very, very nice.

There was no chemistry, but the company was good; the music was great. I couldn't complain. 

 

Plus he had organised dinner and a show!

It's wonderful when a man organises the gig and all you have to do is turn up.

 

We had discussed many options; a weekend away? A late-night movie and a drink. A show on the coast? Anticipation was half the deliciousness of the date!

We had talked often about this evening. Plans had been in place for a few weeks and we were both really looking forward to it.

So I selected my most gorgeous nude stilettos, and carefully tottered down to Circular Quay to meet Mr International.

My feet were KILLING me in said stilettos.

But beauty is pain.

 

We bought a ticket on a speedy jet across the harbour. It was early evening in June. 

The night sky was cold and clear, with thousands of tiny gems dotted over the horizon..shining stars! 

The moon over the water was honeyed and promising.

Mr International got the drinks and we held hands, sipped wine and the sea-breeze tousled my Vidal Sassoon hairdo just so.

I DESERVE THIS. 

On arrival at the wharf, we disembarked. 

"Do you mind if we just pop up to my apartment so I can drop off my bag?"

"Oh sure. No worries."

No worries. I had no idea what I was really saying....

Words cannot describe what lay behind the door.

I wish I could tell you there were scattered petals from fragrant roses. 

I wish I could tell you there was a magnum of champagne with crystal flutes. 

But I'm not totally unrealistic. Blokes aren't real good at romance; we know that.

 

I wish I could tell you there was a clean glass in the place.

I wish I could tell you there was a stain-free patch on the sofa to sit down. 

I wish I could tell you there wasn't a pile of odiferous clothes discarded behind the front door.

I wish I could tell you there were not 20-odd empty wine bottles just lying on the the floor.

I wish I could tell you there weren't any teacups WITH MOULDY TEABAGS lined up on the counter. 

I wish I could tell you there were no filthy, stinking pots and pans stacked high in the sink.

I wish I could tell you there was a shower curtain and bleach in the bathroom.

I wish I could tell you there were sheets on the bed.

 THERE ARE NOT ENOUGH WORDS.

"We should hurry! We don't want to miss the show!" I suggested, recoiling from every surface.

So we sauntered off; the romantic couple, out for a cultured night full of fun, amazing food and mind-blowing music.

I had my very best "totally fakin' it" smile on.

The show was brilliant. The food was delicious.

And I made damn sure I paid for it because there would never be enough red wine in the world to finish the night...

Except, except, except for the one tiny detail being that I was overly concerned with behaving politely and not hurting his feelings.

I smiled as he grunted through his meal. 

I smiled when he breathed foul breath all over me as he guffawed with laughter over a forgettable joke. (Forget toothpaste? Forget mouthwash? The joke was on me...how on earth was I going to get out of this???)

I smiled when he engineered a return to the squalid apartment and suggested more wine.

I politely teetered on the edge of the stained sofa and took two teensy sips from the smeared glass. 

He was watching TV.

WE WERE ON A DATE AND HE TURNED ON THE TELLY.

I placed my wine glass down, in between piles of unopened mail and other paper debris.

"I'm going home."

(Aren't I the brave one?)

And he leapt off the sofa with a furious "WHAT?" 

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm going home."

"I don't understand. We had this planned for ages. I came back from overseas to spend the weekend with you. What are you talking about?"

And I couldn't think fast enough to make up an excuse. So I was left with the truth.

"This..." I said, gesturing to the filth around us. "This....is a dealbreaker for me."

"Well, I haven't had time to clean up! I'm very busy, you know, I travel overseas every week."

(Gee. Dude, not such a clever excuse to use with an international hostie.)

"I'm sorry, I may seem superficial, but I'm very uncomfortable here. I need to go home."

And I bravely walked out his door, head high, handbag tightly gripped under my elbow, rocking the nude stilettos.

Outside it was dark. Cold. Quiet. Eerie. 

It was after midnight and I didn't know this suburb well. I ventured towards a vaguely familiar light and tottered along the wharf. 

I realised then that the ferries had finished for the night.

I wasn't sure what I was going to do, but I knew I had to keep walking.

And I heard a pounding on the pavement behind me. 

Yes, Mr International, chasing me down the wharf!

Thus ensued a robust discussion on the beach, and thank God there were lots of young groovy types around who had not yet retired for the night.

"Do you want me to pay loads of money for a cleaner, just so you can be comfortable???" 

(Um, well, it's not a bad idea.)

"Do you want me to pay loads of money for a hotel, just so you can feel comfortable?"

(Well, there's an option.)

"You're just like everyone else I've ever met, blaming me for the things I just don't have time to do!"

(Says the single guy, with an executive job and no kids.)

"I guess I'm still going home." 

I turned on my gorgeous super skinny heel, nearly broke my ankle, bemoaned the absence of not-sexy wedges and painfully tottered up the hill.

And fate sent me a taxi right at that moment, saved the stilettos and my ego and the kindest driver ever took me all the way home for an inordinate amount of money; which was money very very well-spent, I say even now!

The saddest part of the evening was that I had no chocolate icecream in the freezer of my very clean, very tidy little flat...

A short note of safety for all you single ladies out there...let a friend know where you are, when you're out on a date; a quick text with a venue, destination & his name is all they need to know. 

And that you got home safely.