You’ll never guess what happened last night. Go on ask me, I know you want to. You’ll never guess though. I only went on a date ffs, as in a real live date, he was breathing and everything, total bonus.
I met him through a girl in work, ok when I say met, what I mean is we trawled through pictures in her mobile phone of every male she knows and I selected him. Wine had been consumed so it was more like a drunken stabbing and a slurred ‘he’ll do fine’.
When you create a character, whether it be successfully or unsuccessfully, you don’t expect them to become so much of a diva that you have to move them on from their original beginnings.
It has got to the stage where May’s collection of shoes and handbags is clogging up valuable brain space so I have made the decision to relocate her to her own blog. Normally people at this stage will explain their rationale behind such a move and perhaps explain the pro’s and con’s. I had no other reason than I was bored on Friday night after coming home from spending time with my friends and it seemed like a good idea at the time. I can’t even say for sure I will ever write another May Dupp post, but I certainly hope I do.
May Dupp is the me I would have perhaps been had my life not turned out like it did, had I had a little more confidence and had I had the figure to carry off pencil skirts and low cut blouses! Perhaps she is the girlie girl inside me trying to break free!
She is, I must remind you, totally fictional, and none of her exploits are based on real life. That’s my story anyway and I am sticking to it :)
Should you wish to keep hearing about May’s shenanigans, you can now find her at The Misadventures of May Dupp. She would appreciate a follow if you are inclined to read made up waffle when you are bored. :)
Bear in mind the site is still under construction or as May would say, bare faced, nae slap on! :)
Marina from the hairdressers feels I should no longer wear leggings due to the fact that my legs look like a pair of stuffed sausages and when I bend over I resemble a bicycle park. How do I know this? Because I was sitting on the other side of the partition when she decided to tell her rather bored looking client. Am I bothered? Not particularly, Marina has the kind of face that only a Mother could love and a voice like a foghorn, so all in all my bicycle park backside isn’t so bad. She also had the complexion of a beetroot when she walked around the corner and saw me sitting there with one of my recently waxed eyebrows raised. Stuffed sausages indeed!Read More »
Apparently as far as Internet dating goes I rock! The fact that, as previously mentioned, the men out number the women on the site at least 10 to 1, has abso fricking lutely nothing to do with it, so you can put the brakes on that train of thought right now!
My Inbox is full to bursting with e-mails from eligible bachelors from all over the world. I have even had some offers of marriage, although I am a little concerned as to why they need my bank details and an immediate loan of $3000. My brother Jamesy said to stay clear, something about it being a Scam thing, now I dunno about you, but I’ve never heard of that religion before. Ah well, I need a man who is a little less concerned with the contents of my bank account considering there’s feck all in it.
I actually did go on a date last Thursday afternoon. I took the advice of all my friends and work colleagues about meeting in daylight and in a public place. I briefed at least 16 people with regards to my whereabouts and provided handouts containing bulletin points of my proposed agenda. You think that was a little too much? believe me there are some rare types on those dating sites. I should know ffs, I’m one of them!
I didn’t really think the whole thing through to be honest. The plan was to go to Starbucks for coffee, keeping in mind the very casual nature of our date. We were to meet outside WH Smith and so I could pick him out from the crowd, he was to carry a newspaper under his right arm. Clearly not one of my better ideas, considering that particular shop incorporates a newsagents and as a result every man except one carried a paper under his arm. There is no surer way to alert the general public to the fact that you are on a blind date than working your way along a line of men asking each one in turn if they are ‘Barney’.
I was beginning to think as I came to the end of the line that perhaps ‘Barney’ on seeing me approach had seized his opportunity to leg it up Royal Avenue, but like a true gentleman he stepped forward and informed me he was the one I had been waiting for, which was greeted with a roar of approval from all the non Barneys. I smiled, shook his hand, and kept my face very non committal, whilst thinking, no, no, no, you are so not the one I have been waiting for. Call me picky if you like, but jeans and manure covered wellington boots were always a turn off for me on a first date.
Not wanting to let the side down, or face the wrath of Onda, I decided to proceed with the date anyway, so ten minutes later found us seated in Starbucks with our coffees and a cheeky caramel square each. My sister on hearing I was to go on a blind date had told me we needed to have a codeword for text messages, as she was worried that my date might murder me, but manage to keep it a secret by replying to my text messages. The codeword was to be ‘FFS’ and she was to text at 4pm exactly.
Now I’m not saying I wasn’t enjoying my date, I was having a good laugh and the craic was mighty, but there was no chemistry, or is it biology, you know what I mean, it’s one of those sciency type things. So at 4pm my phones bleeps and right on cue it’s my sister:
Sister: Are you ok? How’s it going?
Me: Yeah it’s going not to bad thanks.
Sister: Who are you and what have you done with my sister, I’m calling the police.
Me: It’s me ffs, everything is ok!!!
Sister: You didn’t use the codeword.
Me: FFS!
Considering the shaky start, the rest of the date went not to bad. We finished our coffees and then it was time for me to head home. I don’t think I’ll be seeing him again, but he was a nice enough bloke, he even gave me his paper to read on the train.
(Some people didn’t seem to sure after my first couple of offerings, but please remember when reading these posts that May Dupp is a fictional character….I am not Internet dating so you have no need to worry about my safety, but thank you for caring!
The only part of this post which was based on real life was the text messages. That did actually happen with my Sister one time when I went on a blind date, although I can’t remember it word for word.)
This Internet dating lark is easy, said no one, ever!!
I mean come on, you have a 27 page questionnaire to complete before they even let you get to the stage of picking a password! Apparently I completed one of the questions wrong too. It seems that where it said sex, I was supposed to answer with ‘Female’ and not ‘Yes Please’. Oh well, at least I know for next time.
Now I know what you’re thinking, and you’d be right, just exactly why are two voluptuous girls like myself and Onda having to resort to a dating site. Well if you lived where we do and frequented the same bars, you would know exactly why that is. It’s the same old faces all the time, half of them I went to school with and the other half are as old as me Da. There is, sadly, a definite lack of available men within our age range, which the way things are going at the minute could be anywhere from 21 – 55.
We have become girls of a certain standard, no longer interested in the young farmers, who ‘Do it in Wellies’, we’ve grown up and moved on so we’re now more inclined toward the likes of accountants and bankers, because apparently, they ‘do it with interest’, and by ‘do it’ I mean dating of course, you dirty sods!
Truth be told this is more for Onda than me, but you know what it’s like, you have to support your friends and in all honesty I’d be scared of missing out on something.
Onda’s last bloke, Kevin, an award winning butcher from the shop on Main Street, as lovely as he was, thought of her as a piece of meat, quite literally! He was always asking her to put a smile on her ‘chops’, complimenting her on her lovely ‘rump’ and referring to her, albeit proudly, as a prize heifer to his friends!
Onda for the most part, good soul that she was took it all in her stride at the start, however cracks started to appear and the crunch came when all the girls in the pub started winking and making references to the size of Kevin’s prize winning sausage, commenting that because of that surely his oddities could be overlooked. One sausage joke to many, and Onda realising that he fell more into the category of cocktail than beef decided he had to go.
So now do you see why I am here today, writing this post and hiding from the task of having to embellish the details of my life in order to make them suitable for the many single men in the stratosphere, well the Emerald Isle at the very least. First impressions would lead me to believe that the men on the site outnumber the woman by at least 10 to 1 and I have already been asked to do things that I would never consider due to the massive health and safety risks involved. In fact I am pretty sure no ones body can bend like that naturally.
I shall keep you informed of how it all goes, the dating that is, not the…umm..other stuff!
In hindsight deciding to pole dance on New Years Eve was not one of my better ideas, neither was using a lamp post as a substitute for the pole. But the straw that broke the camels back was the fact I picked a traffic island slap bang in the middle of Shaftsbury Square as my stage.
It is true what they say, ‘when the drink’s in, the wit is out.’ I will be forever grateful to the policeman some kind member of the public sent to assist me, for sharing that little gem of wisdom, although I still think his use of handcuffs was unjustified. Was it my fault he walked into my handbag just as I was preparing to land.
By the time 1am came I had been separated from the other members of my party posse. Happily drunk, but not to the point where I had no clue about the where, what and whys, I experienced a rush of self satisfaction when I made it into the kebab shop and was able to successfully place an order. A large kebab on pitta, all the trimmings, no sauce. Had I realised at that time that about 15 minutes later I would be using most of it to accessorize my rather delightful outfit, I might have just ordered a chip instead. Thinking about it now, that may have been why the lamp post was so slippery.
It was at this point I saw my friend Onda Poole, one of the aforementioned posse. She was halfway up a dark alley and looked to be in the midst of a struggle. Shouting her name I headed, I was going to say straight across the street, but it was more of a zig zag. Her hand moved in what I, at the time perceived to be a ‘come help me’ gesture, but the closer I got I realised it was meant to be more of a ‘feck off’ one. It seemed for my good friend there was more than kebab on the menu that night.
Never one to be outdone I spied the lamp post and seizing the opportunity to grab the attention of not only Onda and he with the wandering hands, but of everyone in the street, I started to climb. It seemed like such a good idea at the time and was certainly a crowd pleaser as everyone was laughing at with me. A few even started to clap their hands.
Egged on by the support I was receiving I inched my way further up the post. It was bloody freezing and I remember thinking to myself how glad I was to have worn the granny pants I had received from my Mammy at Christmas.It’s not easy trying to scale something the same size as Mount Everest whilst keeping your dignity in check. Apparently I failed as there was a roar of laughter from the crowd right after I heard some wee hood shout ‘Nice knickers!.’
It was at this point that things started to unravel, quite literally. As I turned to give the body attached to the voice a two fingered salute, I started, against my will might I add, to slide down the post. Unfortunately my woolie Christmas jumper decided to remain attached and snagged onto a huge (honestly it was) hook that I had thankfully avoided on both my ascent and now rapid descent.
It was also around this time I spotted the approaching policeman and in an attempt to distract Onda from her game of tonsil tennis and gain some much needed help I started to frantically wave my arms. I now understand why blokes call us ‘birds’, because I looked just like a mental seagull, flapping and squawking atop a lamp post.
Of course I tipped backwards and of course I was still turning at the time and of course my handbag was in my hand and in full flight when that silly policeman decided to walk into it. Now at the bottom, someone from the crowd helped me to my feet whilst copping a cheeky feel of my ample backside and there I stood, red faced and in a half top that made me look like a reject from that band Pepsi and Max, no wait that’s a drink, Pepsi and Shirlie.
A heated debate followed,with the attending Constable, as I tried to blame everyone, including the kitchen sink for the events of the evening. Even Onda, whose lips looked like they had gone 3 rounds with a plunger, came over to offer what I thought was going to be assistance. Instead she bid me a fond farewell, muttering that I had really done it this time.
The rest of the evening is a bit of a blur, I think I fell asleep as soon as they put me in my cell, but I did get a ride in a police car! :)
The Indecisive Eejit 