Blind Panic On Blind Date - Mistakes I Thought I'd Never Make

Mixed Messages 

The first thing that can goes wrong is the date, meaning the man, then the date, meaning the calendar date. Don't tell me you've never arrived at the wrong time or place or missed the person you were meeting? 

 Crisis 

What crisis? You live the perfect life? Please date me. I need help. I lurch from crisis to crisis. If I don't have a crisis, I just imagine one. 

John

 Oh, No John - Not Another John! 

A man called John who was going to see me and promised to invite me out can't make it. But somebody else called John writes to say I haven't replied to his message and am I still free for lunch? 

 I say, 'I thought you cancelled.' 

 'No I didn't,' he says. 'I never got your message,' I say. 

Butterfly

By now we are both confused. He thinks I have a butterfly mind.

Why would he think that? 'Yes,' I say, 'a pretty butterfly.' Three people called John ring during the morning. John to cancel. John from the garage. John to make a date. Another John calls 'from the library'. Okay, this must be my date? No, it isn't. Wrong voice. It must be my friend who I told about my three Johns, playing a trick. Oh, dear, it really is John from the library. This unsuspecting man is puzzled because I've spent three minutes wisecracking about people claiming to be John and I'm really Queen Elizabeth. 

 Comedy 

Why do I live in an ongoing comedy? 

Somebody upstairs (God) is playing silly games with me. 

I've never believed that the universe is run by a vengeful or kindly lord 

Nor a wicked Satan. 

But I do think it might be run by a guy who has a wicked sense of humour.

 I can't see the supposed missed message. Can't see the message, but delighted to get the re-send. As far as anything enjoyable goes, the sooner the better. Glitches Let's aim at Monday. No, all the restaurants are closed Monday. How about Tuesday? Then, if any outside glitch causes a postponement, we still have the option of Wednesday. Then you could postpone until Thursday. 

Wrong, wrong

 What could go wrong? Everything. A date could be cancelled because ... Most of these, or variations are causes for cancelled arrangements I've experienced. Not necessarily blind dates, but life in general:

 1 An overturned lorry has blocked the dual carriageway between us and our lunch. 

 2 Your house, shop or office has burned down. 

 3 Your spouse wants a day off to think about the divorce and the only free accommodation she could think off was a battered women's refuge and you have to show you care and get her out before people think you are some kind of lunatic. 

 4 Your dog has run off and the police have found it - mixed blessing - you must fetch it immediately because it is causing traffic problems. 

More Glitches:

5 Your kid has gone into hospital. 

 6 You broke your arm playing tennis. 7 You broke your leg skiing. 

 8 Your car has broken down or gone in for servicing. You have two cars but your spouse or offspring are fifty miles away in the other one. 

 9 Your work is keeping you in a foreign city. 

 10 A transport strike or foiled terrorist attack has stopped transport and prevented you from getting home. 

 Miss Perfect Miss Manager 

I refer him to my blog on restaurants, hoping he won't think I'm just promoting restaurants. I wish I were. I should be. 

 Mismanaged 

Three seconds of self-criticism. Why aren't I making a mint promoting restaurants? He must think I am an amateur. A blog on restaurants, but no pop-ups, no money-making scheme, no plan. He would be making a million from any of my ideas. 

 Moment over. 

Since he's so clever 

and organized, I suggest he picks a restaurant, and he books it. 

 Booking 

I won't book a restaurant. Men who expect me to book might then cancel. I don't want to keep cancelling restaurants. You can't do that more than once. They won't take any more bookings. 

 Tizz 

Yes, I'm working myself into a tizz of outrage. If he won't focus on a destination, a place, a time, or commit himself to a stranger running a restaurant, he probably wouldn't commit to turning up! 

I shall cancel. 

No I won't. 

 Calm 

Calm down. I tell him, 'Tell me what time and name you've booked under. I'll be looking for a man with a beard, so if you shave it off let me know.

Dating with Dotty - my supposed twin - asking 'for a friend'

DOTTY DATES

Why I Need Dinner Dates My husband and I have separate bedrooms. Mine is in London. His is in the Far East. So I thought I'd look for somebody to take me out to a romantic dinner in London on Valentine's Day. Since nobody appeared last Valentine's day I thought I'd start looking a year ahead for next Valentine's day. I didn't have a date for Saturday night. So I thought I'd try a dating site. 

Dating

Why not? Everybody else was doing it. My son was on dating sites. My husband used to switch the computer off in a hurry every time I walked in the room. Why not me? 

Don't I deserve a lifetime of happiness? Well, I won't be greedy and ask for a whole lifetime. Just a modest request. Just one dinner date? 

Yes, I deserve a date, a dinner. If not now, when? Surely nobody should be forced to stay home eating microwave meals while listening to Country Music for ever? 

  Chatlines 

So then I looked for a dating site. The first one I tried claimed to have several thousand people, most of whom were on line. Some were on chatlines. Most of them were Americans, writing three or four word cryptic messages, referring to people I didn't know, TV shows I didn't watch, and UFOs I had not met. 'Trucker calling Red Goblin.' 'Welcome Red Goblin.' Red Goblin says, 'Loonies on today.' Trucker says, 'Red Goblin - avoid loonies!' Oops. I'd already met them. 

  The Ideal Man 

But the site could not find even one man who matched my ideal. I wanted a millionaire within five miles of my postcode in the UK, single, looking for a long term relationship, honest, not religious, no children, not grey or bald, under fifty-five, over forty-five, fit in perfect health, an attractive happy, cheerful soul, looking for an attractive woman, who looked like death on a Monday morning and was unfit, unhealthy and manic-depressive.

 There was one man who met my description. Unfortunately he was looking for twenty-year-olds. And a twiggy. No millionaire wanted a fat woman over fifty. Even if she said she was blonde and attractive with a 40 D bust. 

In fact nobody at all wanted an attractive woman with an hourglass figure over fifty. Many men wanted a twenty-year-old with a size 40 bust. A couple of men, in their eighties, wanted a woman in her fifties who was fit and slim. 

  How To Join Them 

They say if you can't beat them, join them. I'm not into beating men, but I would like to join them, for lunch. On expenses. Their expenses. 

First Look

 The first dating site I looked at sent me an offer to join another dating site. It was new and had a special offer, 15 months for the price of twelve. I joined. Nothing happened. You had to wait twenty-four hours for your profile to be approved. Meanwhile, they sent me another sister dating site. It was free. So I joined that one. You had to wait another twenty-four hours. Nothing happened. Another ad popped up. Free. In the end I joined about twenty sites. Whatever popped up and offered a free trial I had a look. Up popped English, French, American, Far East, Indian, Jewish, singles, parents, mature dates, Girls Date For Free, and Sugardaddies. 

  John Wayne 

Three times a day I get invitations to join a new site. Three times an hour I get told that John or Wayne, not John Wayne, unfortunately, only John or Wayne, loved my profile. John, or Wayne, has winked at me. Think positive. I prayed for one man, John Wayne. I got two, John and Wayne. 

God works in mysterious ways. I do understand. Let's be realistic. The world is actually run by Microsoft. 

  Rude Suggestions 

Anyway, my prayer was answered. I received hundreds of emails and phone calls. I get rude suggestions from unemployed men who have nothing to do all day except sit at the computer. They want me to take my clothes off. I wonder if they are sitting in public libraries. Or whether two of them have clubbed together to buy a second-hand computer. Or even a whole Darby & Jones club with a men's room. 

 I refused. I told them I could not take off clothes because it was too cold and I had trouble with the central heating. 

 Some of them said they only wanted me to dance on camera. Others asked me remove one piece of clothing to perform in various ways which I am too much of a lady to describe. 

 One of them asked me to describe my toys. Now I'm a grown woman. But I still have a teddy bear. 

 Another one asked if I had a cucumber. I can't imagine why. 

 One man wanted to introduce me to his dog. I am not a pet lover. I told him I do not like threesomes in bed. 

 Another man wanted to introduce me to his horse. He said it was well-endowed. I told him that in the UK it's illegal. To protect the animals.

 I still did not have a date. Fetish So to increase my chances I joined sixteen different dating sites. American, English, Jewish and fetish. I don't know the religion or race of fetish people. They all believe in different things. And they have their own national costume. And several dialects. I don't know where fetish people are coming from. But they live all over the world. 

 I specified employed or student and left the age specification totally open, anybody from 18, which seems to be the age of consent, for male homosexuals, to a hundred, which was as far as the dating site went. I was willing to meet any man, heterosexual, gay or bisexual, transvestites, and even men who were grey, white, receding or had no hair at all and any state of health providing he was not in a wheelchair but could walk into the restaurant. 

 I gave up trying to get a match. They could have any kind of kink or fetish, most of which I had never heard of. I didn't care what they fantasized about, threesomes, whips, enemas, anything, so long as they did not do in the restaurant during lunch. 

 Dinner Dates 

This was a vast improvement. I have now had more than thirty jolly lunches out. One local restaurant owner regards me with enormous suspicion when I turn up with yet another man. So I go to the other restaurant. There the restaurant manager rushes forward to greet me. He is always delighted to see me because I am single-handedly keeping him in business.

 I know you are dying to hear about my dates. Of course, to protect the innocent, I cannot tell you about any of my dates. But I can tell you about the dates of my twin, Dotty. Did I tell you I was an only child? 

  A Purple Wig Hiding Blush

Pink I am very shy. So even telling you about Dotty, I shall wear my purple wig. When I am alone, typing at my computer, I wear my purple wig. It gives my confidence. It makes me feel anonymous. I am now wearing my purple wig. 

Dotty told me this: 

 My first date was a twenty-something man who later revealed he was gay. Why did he want to talk to me? He was a committed homosexual. He wanted my advice, because I was a mature woman, about how to make his relationship work with his gay friend who had walked out. 

 In order to be a successful agony aunt to gay and bisexual young men I would have to date these delightful characters non-stop. I redecorated my spare room in pink. Then in lavender. I bought twenty-five silk flower arrangements.

Truthfully

 This is true. Would I lie to you? No. Tell the truth to a complete stranger? Of course not. But I really do have a lot of silk flower arrangements. I tell a lie. People with poor memories should not tell lies. I have a poor memory. Some of my flowers are painted wood. That's not relevant. Anyway, I decided not to restrict myself to forlorn young gays but to go with the flow and see who turned up next.

  Manic-depressives 

A heterosexual young man sounded a better bet. But he cried all through dinner. It was distressing because I was wearing my best outfit and had dressed to impress. 

He did not seem interested in a future relationship. So I asked, "Tell me about your last relationship."

He had spent an enormous amount of money he could not afford on a wedding. 

 I asked, 'Are you divorced?' 

 'No.' 

 'How long have you been married?' 

He sobbed, 'I am not married. My girlfriend cancelled the wedding!'

I could see why. He was a complete depressive. 

I was sitting in a roomful of jolly romantic couples. I was on a dinner date with a depressive. 

 I needed to be cheered up. 

TV

I lost interest in watching TV dating programmes when I got my own invitations. Next I received a jolly e-mail from a woman. She wanted to know, 'What success are you having with dates?' Not much. But I wasn't admitting that. 

 She asked, 'Would you like to go on double dates in a foursome? Go to a pub and chat up a couple of guys? Or just for a girlie chat?' 

 I thought this character might be a lesbian. I knew something was wrong. She was hiding something. Had her own agenda. I didn't know what. I wrote back asking if she was a lesbian.

 'No. Good Heavens no.'

 I said, 'I was only interested in meeting a man.' 

She wrote back saying, 'I am a man. I am a cross-dresser.' 

 At this point I went off the foursome idea. I could see a fight ensuing when 'her' date discovered she was a man. I wrote and said, 'Are you a TV full-time or as a stage act?'

 She, now he, got very cross. 'I am a cross-dresser. Not a TV. They are mocking women and people who dress in women's clothes. I want to pass for a woman. The real thing.'  To me a TV stage act is amusing. But a cross-dresser who pretends to be a woman is anything but the real thing. It meant my colluding at deceiving everybody, family, friends, people you meet in the street. 

 She, or rather he, still wanted to meet me, if I was still willing.

 I hesitated a long time over this. One day I was determined not to meet. It was a waste of time. Nonsense. Dangerous. A few days passed. He wrote back, apologising for not getting in touch. He had been busy. But he had thought a lot about me and our proposed meeting. He still wanted to meet. 

 I did not agree to meet. But, I asked whether, if we met, was he was coming to meet me dressed as a man - or as a woman? He was shocked. 'Certainly not! I wouldn't dream of it. He assured me, 'I shall meet you dressed normally, as a man. ' 

 Okay. But I still worried about this. For a week. 

Finally, curiosity got the better of me. He arrived wearing a normal suit. However, he wanted to go back to my house to change into a dress. He sighed, 'I can't change sex in the gents because the men might attack me. Nor in the ladies because women take fright if a man walks in. They'll call the manager or the police. Do you understand my predicament?' 

I began to realise that my own problems were not as bad as I had thought they were. I tried to think of an excuse. 

And to clarify what was worrying me. I wasn't sure that making your house a changing room for transvestites was actually forbidden in any clause inserted in local leases. But I am not allowed to run a business in a residential area. Since I'm not a qualified plastic surgeon, I thought the neighbours would find it odd if all my visitors arrived as men - but left as ladies.

Married Men 

Then I met a normal, heterosexual man in a business suit. He was a married man. But he was very difficult to talk to. I could not get eye contact. He spent most of his time looking over his shoulder.

Widowed 

Then a widower, much better. Except that he had had a triple heart by-pass. He was hoping to have sex one last time, before he died. 

 He said he hadn't got long to live. The doctor had told him not to drink. He ordered a bottle of wine. 

I don't drink on date so he drank it all himself. 

I was worried in case he died before the bill arrived.

 I thought of asking, 'Do you have cash? Would you mind putting it under the candle, in case you collapse during the meal.' But I didn't want to risk saying anything that might upset him. I thought it would be more polite to wait. 

The best bit of the meal was when he paid the bill. I was so relieved that the date ended with both of us still alive. He was white-haired. 

The next time I went into the restaurant, with another date, the waiter asked me, 'How's your granddad?' 

 Next I met a man who was completely bald. He was thirty-five. Shaven head. With stick-out ears.

Leather 

Then I met a man who wanted me to dress in leather head to toe. 

I found black leather boots. A leather skirt. And a leather jacket. I had leather gloves. And a leather hat. I carried a leather handbag. 

He was so thrilled that after lunch he didn't want me to go. 

He invited me out to dinner - the same day. 

 He was about to go on holiday to France with his wife and children. He said he could not take me with, but I could stay in a room at another hotel down the road.

 I declined his offer. I can't explain why. It just didn't seem right. 

 Well, I have to go now. Every night I get emails with more exciting offers. More offers. Each one more exciting than the last. I have a blog about my adventures and this brings in more offers. I am read all over the world. Men write in saying they love my humour and would love to take me out to lunch. If only we didn't live so far apart. 

I have had an email from South America. And one from a man on a farm in Australia who wanted me to join his harem of twelve girls.

 I have a huge readership. One in Scotland. 

An Italian in Europe wants a slave. He's divorced. I wonder why. 

He wants me to relocate. But I won't - not today. 

One in Japan. 

And a man in Eastern Europe is willing to relocate just for me. 

 The moral is, if you want to get out more, just don't be too fussy. 

 I really want to have dinner with a nice, regular guy. I have decided I am tired of leading a double life. I am going on a diet.

Lies, Damned Lies and Dating Sites 

What advice can I give you? Everything you learned as a child was wrong. They told you that you must always tell the truth. On dating sites you must never tell the truth. 

The dating sites themselves tell you not to tell the truth. They say, protect your identity. Never give out your real name, your address or your phone number. 

 So - tell lies. Lie about your height and your age. Everybody else does. One man told me, 'You can pass for forty-five. Say you're forty-five. If you have a crinkled forehead, wear a fringe. If you have fans radiating from your eyes, wear sunglasses. If you say, yeah and innit, or have a foreign accent, pour out your heart and your soul in an email. If your neck is crinkly, wear polo necks or scarves. If your hands give away your age, wear gloves. That's why it helps to see a photo. Of the person you are meeting. I have seen photos of men who claimed to be thirty-five. No hair. Faces covered in tramlines. I like freckles. But I met a man with age spots. He claimed he had freckles. I lie abut my age. Every birthday I get a year younger.

Height

 I lie about my height. My height is variable. According to the size heels I wear. You can buy heels up to five inches. 

 I once had a call from a woebegone man. He sobbed, 'I'm so sorry. Before we meet, I've a confession to make. I am not forty-five. I'm fifty-six.' 

 I said, 'Don't worry about it. I am not forty-five either. I always lie about my age. I'm forty-six.' 

 Well, that's all from Dotty and her Dotty Dates. I'm not Dotty. At least, I don't think I'm dotty.

-ends-

Angela Lansbury writes and delivers humorous speeches, trains speakers, and performs stand-up comedy.

Contact: angelalansbury@hotmail.com

websites include: http://annalondon8.googlepages.com