There’s been a flurry of internet dating among the men of late. I suspect this is motivated less by a search for The One and more by a panic at graduating from Q1:
No Sex Quarterly Measuring System
Q1 = 0-3 months = dating
Q2 = 4-6 months = internet dating
Q3 = 7-9 months = escort agency
Q4 = 10 –12 months = curb crawling
Dave met a girl online last Wednesday, took her for a drink on Thursday, they met for dinner on Friday, breakfast on Saturday and then, in the words of Craig David, were chilled on Sunday. Or they would have been if Dave hadn’t got bored and ended it on Saturday – by text. Easy come, easy go. Single again, he joined us for Sunday lunch at a Mexican restaurant called Margarita Loca in Battersea, a place where no-one should go to sober:
‘What happened, it sounded like it was going well?’
‘It was. Then she got a bit demanding’
‘What did she do?’
‘She called me at 1am wanting to come over. Plus she was just a bit too talkative in general, always asking questions’
‘So she wanted to sleep with you AND get to know you? What a bitch’
‘Never mind!’ said Stacey, the only one who was excited to be at the Mexican place, ‘you can cheer yourself up with a maaaarrrrgarrita loca!’
‘Look you’ve got what you wanted’ said her boyfriend ‘we’re here now, you don’t need to keep-’
‘Marrrrgarrrita Loca!’
She had been shouting this in a bad latino accent at 10-minute intervals for the past hour, ever since she had found it online and insisted we all go.
‘Can’t we just go and get a nice pub lunch?’
‘Why would we do that when we could a-go for a Maaaarrrgarita Loca?!’
It was as horrible as the website had promised. The interior was a garish, latino music-filled assault on the senses, in comically stark contrast to the 3 lone customers eating in silence wearing sombreros.
‘Hats ON everyone!’ instructed Stacey, handing them out from a pile in the middle of the table.
‘I don’t really fancy Mexican’ I said
‘Bit late now. Have a burger’ said Josh, adjusting his sparkly cowboy hat.
‘You know what’ll go well with that?’ said Stacey ‘a marrrrrgarrita loca!’ and she began playing invisible maracas with her hands in time to the music.
I ordered a piri-piri chicken sandwich, which tasted like it had been freshly made in 1992. Adina ordered the £7.95 barbeque platter, which was so big everyone hovered around her plate like vultures until she got halfway through and gave up.
‘Don’t you feel a bit bad about dumping her by text?’ someone asked Dave
‘Not really. I only met her on Wednesday, and there’s no nice way of ending it is there?’
I looked down at my plate: ‘You should have brought her here for lunch. That would have done it’
