
The story so far... I met a lovely boy called Hands. He asked me out. I said yes. He then fannyed around arranging the date. I almost didn't go on the date. I did go on it though and it was great. He asked me on another date. He fannyed around some more. This time I didn't go on the date. He then asked me on an extra-special date. This chapter is about that date. (There is
slightly more to it than that so please read from
Chapter 1 if you haven't already.)
So six weeks after first going out with Hands, I was about to go on date number two. There had been reasons for the large gap between rendezvous. Mainly cause I'd been working abroad and then Hands had been on a course with work, (advanced hand modelling I presume?) but it was partly down to his dithering straight after our first date. This was all forgiven and forgotten though, because he'd suggested a trip to the theme park Alton Towers for our second meeting. Heck, he'd even taken a day off work.
I knew it had been an inspired idea on his part but just to double check I told everyone I came into contact with about the venue for date two. 'Ooooh that's a great place to go on a date!' is what everyone said. It was official. The boy had done good.
I was ultra excited about the day, except for one thing. I didn't know what to wear. Or to be more specific. I didn't know what to wear on my feet.
It was lovely weather so I'd thought about donning flip-flops, which would go well with the rest of my summery outfit (please remember this date is in the past. I'm not contemplating wearing attire like this in February!) Plus as I normally only wear flip-flops in the sunshine, on holiday or after a pedicure, I associate them with nice things and having a good time. Perfect therefore for my Alton Towers date. Except for one thing. They are flat. And Hands is a big boy.
I mentioned my dilemma to my Bro.
'What height is he?'
'Erm just a wee bit over six foot five...'
'What?! For God sake Sis you can't go out with him!'
'Why not?'
'Cause you're a short ass! Imagine if you ever got married...you'd look like the Krankies in your wedding photos!'
Now I know that it is part of a brothers' job to make you feel crap. No matter how old you both are, he is still required to take the piss. And as insults go, suggesting that Hands and I would resemble a comedy duo made up of a married couple in their 60's, the female of which that dresses up as a school boy, is not one of the worst he's thrown at me. It struck a nerve though. What if we did look ridiculous together? What if Hands hadn't realised I was short and it would only become obvious when people were pointing and laughing at us as we wandering around the park. Even worse, what if without my heels I was too short to get on some of the rides.
I was getting myself a bit worked up so did what any normal person would do in the same situation. I googled images of couples with a big height difference.
Hey presto! After bypassing pics of Sophie Dahl and Jamie Cullum, and Tom Cruise and anyone, I found the sort of thing I was looking for. Hello Dannii Minogue and Kris Smith!
Turns out there is the same amount of inches between them, as there is between me and Hands. And they look fine don't they? I decided we could be the Manchester equivalent. Albeit a less attractive version. I felt much happier. Fan-dabi-dozi!
Date day dawned and Hands picked me up bright and early. I was glad to see that my taste in men hadn't changed in six weeks - I still fancied the arse off him.
We drove towards Alton Towers and the conversation flowed surprisingly well considering we hadn't seen each other for such a long time and actually didn't know each other very well in the first place.
Then something happened...
I started feeling dizzy.
Bugger.
In all the excitement of the 'Oooh what a great place to go on a date,' I'd forgotten that I was waiting for an operation on my sinuses. And that while waiting for this op I was occasionally suffering with symptoms such as dizziness, headaches, face ache, nausea, near black outs etc, etc, etc.
Unfairly it seemed that I was having one of these
occasional symptoms then. While on my way to a theme park. A theme park with rides. Probably the worst place I could actually go in my condition.
I felt pretty bloody stupid.
I held off telling Hands but as things hadn't improved as we queued to get in, and I was actually feeling worse, I came clean.
Bless him, he was lovely about it. He was quite hopeful that I'd feel better as the day went on, and for that reason, and also for the fact that he'd bought the tickets weeks before, he reckoned that we should still go in anyway.
So we did. We wandered around for a bit. Enjoying the relative quiet at first and then the almost palpable buzz in the air as the park started filling up. Hands said it was time we started going on some rides.
And so he took me to the ride called Rita. Bloody Rita. Rita with her big list of medical complaints at the entrance and accompanying instructions not to ride Rita if you suffer from any of them. At that time I had most of them.
I just couldn't do it. I suggested Hands ride Rita without me and maybe I'd do the next one. He gave me his stuff to hold, kissed me and off he went.
Brilliant. Not only had I become the 'mum' that looks after all the possessions while the kids go off to play, but I also felt shit.
And I was concerned that Hands was going to get the wrong impression about me and think that I was a big, moaning, hypochondriac, fun vacuum that was just going to suck all the fun out of the day.
I felt very sorry for myself. I took out my phone to call a friend to make me feel better.
I had no reception.
I felt even sorrier for myself.