We’ve all had them. Those dates that just seem to rollercoaster downhill, where you try to stay positive but things just keep going wrong and prove to be, ‘Not Quite Right’ (NQR).

This one was particularly NQR.

Typically, like most of my online dating attempts, most of the lead up was normal. We matched, messaged for a while, the conversation was good and our numbers were exchanged, and we chatted in real time over the phone (yes it does still happen).

This particular Mr-future-NQR seemed pleasant, not a description that got my heart on fire but I’m positive nonetheless - as you gotta give a man a chance. At least, he’s got an accent and I dig accents – he is half English and half Kiwi.

We arrange to meet.

Leading up to the night he texts me quite a bit, giving me a super excited vibe and his enthusiasm fans my ego - making me feel pretty good.

I am hopeful. I try not to have too many expectations. Eager, I leave work on the dot. Making sure to look good I touch up my make-up, hope he’s worth it I’m thinking… I arrive a tad early and grab a seat at the bar. Before long I spot him walking in, mmm… a little older-looking than his photos but still looking ok. Then I see it, what - his holding flowers…?

I know you’re all reading this thinking... oh how sweet! But this is the first meeting and it isn’t the 1950’s… though I’m a little flattered, it is a bit over the top and screams of like me, like me please.

Of course, I accept them – “Oh, you shouldn’t have”, I say.

Over a drink we start chatting and he seems nice, except for the fact, well, he’s doing most of the talking.

Reeling off his whole life story, I find out he’s got a double degree (which he mentions three times in 15 minutes) is divorced twice (with the second wife being a big mistake) announcing that she was ‘not intellectual enough’.

Politically, he is a greenie. Doesn’t own a car believing it is important to reduce his carbon footprint, aspires to enter politics one day, is a former gym owner, current gym junkie, animal lover, animal activist and a vegetarian. Blah, blah, blah… he just keeps talking… At this point, I just knew there was zero attraction from my end.

He suggests dinner. I want to say no, but have a pang of guilt. He brought me flowers and is doing his best to impress me, maybe he is just insecure and trying to compensate for being super nervous?

Hell, dinner can’t hurt. Can it? I rationalise inwardly whilst outwardly smiling.

Second guessing my instincts, I find myself saying yes.

We walk to a nearby restaurant. It’s got an American Louisiana sticky ribs vibe with soundtracks from the 70’s. The Eagles, Fleetwood Mac, even a bit of Bruce Springsteen - he starts singing, soulfully with gusto.

Yes - he loves music, used to be in a cover band back in New Zealand. He announces this while continuing to sing along to every song. It starts to irritate the hell out of me as it often replaces and interrupts the conversation. This is starting to feel like he is having a date with himself.

It’s about at this stage that he pulls out his phone and shows me topless photos of when he used to be a model (you heard right) back in his early 20’s. I try not to laugh as he looks like Doogie Howser. (for all those Gen Y’s, that’s a young Neil Patrick from ‘How I Met Your Mother’. Google it!)

What a tool, who is this guy?

Inwardly I say, smile Silvi, smile. It’s nearly over. I say this to myself while motioning more wine please to the waiter.

The conversation moves (in between his singing, clearly he must somehow view this as serenading me) to talk about his health in particular his recent need for a metal pin in his leg, due to a motorbike accident. Hang on, don’t motorbikes emit carbon?

What a douche. l desperately look at my plate of food for answers - I decide this night needed to end now!

Still trying to be polite, I suggest we leave as I needed an early start. Surely he’d get the hint?

Appetite lost, I leave my half-eaten chicken on the plate. And that’s when the biggest NQR moment of the night occurs.

He asks to finish my chicken, as I wasn’t going to eat any more.

“What?” I say. “It’s chicken, aren’t you a vegetarian?”

“Yes. But I don’t like food going to waste,” was his answer.

Speechless, he attacks my plate. I am mortified.

Needless to say, I never saw him again. I let the narcissist walk to his tram stop while feeling lucky to get away. Practically running to my car, I ditched the flowers in the gutter on my way out. Most girls want to go out on a date with someone who not only knows who he is, but who is also interested in meeting someone. He had no interest in getting to know me and quite frankly, happy to only hear himself talk. I think he just liked the idea of having a girl by his side rather than really wanting a connection.

Nothing is more attractive than a guy whose genuinely wants to know who you are.

Most NQR date ever.

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