Pikey Blonde

I promised I would talk about my dating life in my last column, so before I get sidetracked or digress, I’m going to jump right into it.

I’ve been on four dates with this girl I met at a candy bar and last night we had sex. I had sex!! As in, with another human, as in not with myself. There were two heartbeats, four hands and two [enter private-part word here. I like the word pussy but you can choose your own].

I’m moving in the right direction, right? The best way to get over someone is to get under someone. NO!! She wasn’t The One. Period. When do you get to that point when you can look at someone else’s eyes, hair, body, word pronunciation, eating habits and not compare them to your ex’s (whose everything was perfect, of course)?

And it’s not like my date was average looking either. She is super hot with that American sporty look, except she calls herself a pikey. I associate “Pikey” with Brad Pitt from Snatch and even I think he was sexy in that.

So Pikey Blonde says, “Bob’s your uncle, Fanny’s your aunt” a lot. I correct her every time. Fanny is my grandmother and she changed her name in the ‘60s.

We get on. We laugh. Well Astrid laughs and Fluffy stares at Pikey in utter disgust, calculating the number of horrifying qualities she has that The One did not. Fluffy got to 45 differences by the second date.

Fluffy: Self-indulgent, too skinny, too many freckles…
Astrid: What are you talking about?! We love freckles!!
Fluffy: Not today. She’s too obsessed with her job, hasn’t asked one question about us, is proud of the fact that she has Attention Deficit Disorder…
Astrid: Do shut up.

So while Fluffy sat in a dark, cobwebbed corner scribbling negative points about my date, I went on four dates with Pikey.

Last night we went to The Green Carnation, a bar dedicated to Oscar Wilde, I think. The walls were bedecked in kitsch thick red carpet and I wondered if they did that on purpose. I smiled and said: “Either that wallpaper goes or I do”.

It went completely over Pikey’s head. She suggested we go somewhere else and Fluffy mouthed the words “I told you so”, grinning like the Grinch.

But so what if she doesn’t know about Oscar Wilde. Like I’m some sort of English professor that I should be judging her?

We stayed at the bar and befriended two gorgeous women, one Italian the other Lithuanian. Now keep up and listen to this for a night out:

The Italian thought my date was gorgeous and asked if she could kiss her. I said sure and she did and I watched and then she wanted to kiss me and we did and Pikey watched. Then she watched me and Pikey kiss and then she insisted that all three of us kiss, which we did, and Italian girl was wearing Chanel Chance, which is The One’s perfume, so I wanted to kiss her more and I did and I closed my eyes and pretended it was The One but that’s just silly so I went on to drink five tequilas with Lithuanian Lady while Italian and Pikey went to the bathroom.

I got hammered with Lithuanian Lady and didn’t realise that it took them twenty minutes to go to the bathroom, which is so not cool when you’re on a date. So I drank some more. And gave them both a dirty look when they got back and then Pikey wanted to come back to my place and all my dignity was swimming in the litre of tequila in my stomach so I said sure. And there’s seven hours in five sentences. 

This is the tricky bit. The sex part. The part when you show her your room. And your bed. And that’s when you say, “I’m sorry. I can’t do this. I really like you but I don’t know if I’m emotionally ready for this.”

Not me! I drank half a bottle of tequila to make sure this didn’t happen. To shut Fluffy up, to forget everything. But most of all, to forget The One.

And you know what? It worked. Sort of. I managed to have sex. Sort of. And I enjoyed it! Sort of.

So this morning, aside from the hangover and the stress that I left my credit card at the bar (I was running a tab), I felt like I had achieved something tiny. Sleeping with someone else has not done what people say it does. So I learnt not to take advice from people, especially if that advice has puns in it. What I achieved was the fact that I was proactively trying to do something about getting over my ex.

I don’t want to think that Pikey was a rebound. I’ve been a rebound before and I didn’t like it. But—I can’t believe I’m about to say this—I don’t think I’m emotionally ready for anything else, going forward. But I’m jumping the gun here. My face is glowing, my muscles are stiff and my head hurts. Life is good today.

P.S – The bar still had my credit card. 

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Read more about Astrid and Fluffy.