January 4th 2025.
As I sit here reminiscing about my married life, there's one particular date that will always stick out in my mind. It all started on a regular Wednesday, when I used to meet up with my friends for our weekly pub quiz. But on this particular occasion, my friend Kath decided to bring along her friend Daniel. And let me tell you, I was immediately intrigued by him. He was charming, interesting, and had a contagious smile. Plus, he was a dark-haired architect, which I had never met before. I couldn't resist picking his brain about his job and the buildings he designed. It was a refreshing change to meet someone in real life, especially since online dating in 2001 was less than desirable.
But Daniel gave me hope. We hit it off over a few beers and even contributed to the pub quiz together. By the end of the night, he had asked me out on a proper date for the following week. I was thrilled when he proudly announced that he would be cooking dinner at his place. No man had ever cooked me anything more challenging than a cup of tea, so I was impressed.
The next day, I received an email from Daniel with the address of his inner-city flat. I couldn't wait to see it. And let me tell you, his modern loft-style building screamed "successful young architect." However, my good first impressions quickly faded when I saw Daniel at the door. He could barely stand, and his speech was slurred. The flat reeked of weed, and it was clear that he hadn't cooked anything except his senses. He apologized for the mess, but it was him that bothered me.
I took off my shoes and followed him to the sofa. That's when he noticed the scars on my feet and asked about them. I explained that I had needed surgery due to being born with two club feet, and he was completely transfixed. He kept telling me how brave I was, and even stroked one of the scars. Looking back, I should have made my excuses and left, but instead, I asked about dinner. Daniel, who was still barely standing, ordered delivery from a nearby Italian restaurant without any apology. The stoned-versus-sober conversation was awkward, and I was glad when the food arrived quickly.
But then, the farts started. And while I do find flatulence hilarious, this was the final straw. The combination of pot and wind killed my appetite, and his comments only made it worse. I made an excuse to leave and told him we could talk later. I didn't mean it, but I didn't want to hurt his feelings. The fresh air was a relief, and I was glad to be back on my sofa, even though it was only 8 pm on a Saturday.
Daniel's behavior was a strange mix of boorish, disrespectful, and tone-deaf. It was clear that he didn't respect my boundaries, and I regret not leaving sooner. After that bizarre evening, I didn't think much about Daniel. I wrote it off as a wasted hour of my life and only spoke about it with my girlfriends over a bottle of wine.
But to my surprise, a few weeks later, I received another email from Daniel. The date was February 14th. At first, I couldn't remember who he was, but when I did, I took a deep breath, worried that he was going to ask me out again. I wasn't sure if I wanted to go through that again. But when I opened the email, there was a cartoon Cupid and a message written in red cursive font. Daniel had acknowledged my strength and asked me out again, this time on Valentine's Day.
I politely declined, not wanting to be defined by my past struggles. Thankfully, Kath, who had introduced us, understood and didn't insist I give him another chance. I never heard from Daniel again. But that date will always be etched in my memory. It taught me that sometimes, giving someone a second chance is a waste of time. You just have to have the wisdom to know who's worth seeing again and who's a walking red flag. I'm happily married now, but I'll never forget that date with Daniel.
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