Memoirs of an online serial dater

I arrange to meet him at five that afternoon. I arrive excessively early in order to reapply lipstick, perfume and blusher, as I’m certain it will have all worn off in the ten minutes it takes me to get there on the bus. Needless to say he’s late, but worth the wait. As he walks towards me, I think I must have been grinning from ear to ear. It’s a gorgeous sunny day, so we head to a pub by the river, grab some beers, and sit on a wall under the trees. Watching the world go by. We chat about his daughters and he tells me he has taken them shopping, which apparently he loves. I wonder if I’ve just found my ideal man; good looking, funny and likes shopping! After the first couple of beers, I decide everything is going great (in my opinion anyway! He’s not run off yet, or jumped into the Thames). I head back into the bar to get some more drinks. As I’m walking back to him, I’m feeling so glad I made such an effort with my appearance. So glad that I spent ages straightening my hair. Then I sit down next to him on the wall under a tree, and a bird shits on my head.

Mortification does not even come close to describing it. When I feel something land on my beautiful, shiny, just stepped out of a salon hair, I try and convince myself it can’t be a bird doing its’ business. Realistically, I know there’s not much else it can be. And Gary confirms it is in fact white and runny. Oh well. As they say, shit happens.