If you've read my last few posts you'll remember me briefly mentioning my worst ever date and how I would write about it soon. Well, here we are and I'm going to share every distressing detail right here, right now. Are you sitting comfortably? People always ask me why I hate first dates and this is why. Truly, and all joking aside here, it took me about three years to recover from this car crash of an evening.

Firstly, let's talk about the guy. We'll call him L for subtlety (although the chances of him ever finding and reading this post are extremely slim because I don't think he does anything except watch and play football and talk about himself). Anyway, L was - on the surface - a bit of a dream boat. Not my usual type AT ALL; he had blonde sort of scruffy but great hair, a tan (which looking back was a bit sun-beddy for my liking) and muscly arms. His dress sense was a bit more medium and littered with the odd branded sportswear item which I just hate. Like, he was probably the type to wear a cringe baseball hat on holiday with sunglasses that were ever-so-slightly Dad-chic.

I met him on a night out in my third year of uni and he was three years older than me. Infact, it was pretty rare at the time for me to meet anyone who wasn't a penniless student so when he told me he actually lived in Southampton permanently (in his own flat), owned a car, and had a real-life job as a media executive (what is this?), I was fairly easily persuaded into a first date. Also we have to bear in mind here that I had only recently broken up with my ex-boyfriend and was feeling a bit yolo after a few drinks. 

A week after meeting him and after a bit of that annoying to and fro mundane whatsapp chat which always puts me off people, he arrived to pick me up in his car. Flashy and jazzy definitely, but also a bit weird seeing as I lived about five minutes from the main restaurant / bar area of the town.

We had an awkward two minute journey in his way-too-clean car while Drake literally SHOUTED AT ME from the probably new stereo system and speakers. I'd say it was around this point (two minutes in) that I realised he was, without a shadow of a doubt, a dick. Even if I'd tried to open the conversation with a pretty normal, "Sooo, how are you?", he wouldn't have heard me over the lyrics of Take Care. Don't get me wrong, I love me some Drake, but there's a socially acceptable volume for car music and this was way, way past it.

Also important to note is that I don't know at this stage where we're going on the date. I think he was trying to be a bit Peter Andre style mysterious, and had just said that it would be a surprise. Being the insanely fussy eater and control freak that I am, this was already beyond stressful. It turns out that I needn't have worried because we went to REVS for dinner. Anyone who knows me knows I always enjoy some junky carby Revs-type food, but the really awful thing was that he apparently thought Revs was some up-market place I'd be really impressed by. He was staring at my face for a reaction as soon as we arrived - all keen and just-LOOK-at-where-I-have-taken-you smug.

Inside and seated, things really took a turn for the worse. The conversation was strained at best and non-existent mostly, and when the waitress came over to ask for our food I began to say I needed five more minutes to deliberate between the chicken burger, the cheese burger or the cheesy nachos (strong choices, I know) when he went right ahead and ordered for me. "Two cheeseburgers please"... WAIT, WHAT.

I know the cheese burger had made it onto my shortlist but what if I was swaying away from it?! Also, let's just talk about who the hell orders for someone else. The cheeseburger tasted like controlling psychopath in my mouth and all I could really make out aside from that was grease. As I sat and begrudgingly munched through my meal he sat and talked consistently with his mouth wide open. If, just say, the conversation had been mildly entertaining or two-way I could have maybe overlooked the terrible burger and lunatic behaviour on his part, but the conversation was only, solely, purely about Arsenal football club and his passion for 5-a-side on a Wednesday evening. I spent most of the time sitting there debating if I could feign illness or faint and have to be rushed home.

On 'finishing' the food (I literally had eaten less than half), I too-quickly refused pudding and asked if we could "just have the bill please" before he had a chance to open his mouth and say something mental again. Leaning back in my chair and breathing a sigh of relief that the end was in sight I was already thinking that at least this date would make a truly hilarious story for all my mates. Every cloud and all that.

It was at this point, just after paying the bill, that my chair broke. Effectively, what happened was my weight snapped one of the back struts and then caused the entire back panel to collapse sideways, and whilst the seat and legs stayed in one piece, the shock and overall chaos of the situation made me fall off too. I still to this day don't really know why I fell but I think I got disorientated. Either that or it was my body subconsciously trying to injure myself so I could LEAVE.

L, who had finally shut up, had literally no reaction to this happening. Surely, normal humans find this sort of thing mildly amusing? Even though my arm fat had sort of smacked against the floor and it kind of hurt, I managed a little rofl (literally) to myself. I mean, even if you're not going to laugh until you know someone is okay, you at least go over and help them up to check?! No, L just sat there looking at me laughing to myself on the floor amidst bits of splintered chair. The thought of that moment makes me feel so sick with the cringe but is also one of my favourite moments of life so far.

Needless to say, after I picked myself up and had a quiet word with myself to check I was okay, I declined his offer of a lift round the corner (home) and didn't reply when he text asking if I'd be up for a second date. WHY in God's name he thought this would be on the cards I just can't comprehend. 

So, there you go. Beat that worst date story if you can. (You can't).