“Yeah sorry I got called into work and I don’t think I can make it tonight”. He texted with such nonchalance, and I hated that. No one enjoys being stood up last minute. I lay there on my bed and listened to Two Door Cinema Club, staring at the clouds moving tediously. This two-month internship in London was an amazing chance to finally go on one of those fancy European dates, as cheesy as it sounds. It had been a year since I had dated, and this seemed like a fresh new slate. Besides British guys weren’t like American guys, they were the next level of classy. I mean you saw it all in the movies. British guys were attractive, and no one could deny that. I wanted my best date here.
A few minutes later I received a text from a guy on Tinder I had apparently matched with. “Hey xx”. Ugh the typical response, already dry, already lost hope. But I responded. To my surprise we hit it off within moments. From debating about whether the correct term was chips or fries to admitting our most embarrassing drunk moments, I began to feel this mutual coziness with him. I didn’t know why. He wasn’t particularly the best looking in his pictures, he wasn’t good at flirting, and he wasn’t the funniest either. But he felt average. That sweet spot you get right in the middle. A good ol’ normal for a change. But that could have been my desperation convincing me to give people a chance. And so, I received enough details to make the move and ask him out.
“Alright I can make time for tonight wanna meet around Piccadilly Circus?” he replies. Immediately this rush of adrenaline surges into a high like my entire body was only made of triple glazed doughnuts. My arms and legs start to rapidly shake in parallel. But I contain this excitement and reply “sure” to sound modest. I quickly went to the bathroom and proceeded to do an ultimate multi-task frenzy. I was internally perplexed by my body’s sudden drive. It felt like a split where I was an outsider watching myself act out for reasons I just couldn’t figure out. Me and him had only been talking for 30 minutes. What was so attractive? I guess I just wanted a kick start back into dating, which at the time seemed a good enough reason for a good enough guy.
My Brit showed up in cheap jeans and a cheesy engineering shirt with math puns on it. His hair was super messy and his forehead was crinkled up as if he was just casually contemplating Quantum Mechanics. It was oddly cute. I think for once I felt outmatched in overall levels of nerdiness.
“Sorry mate I just got out of work! I bought these jeans so you wouldn’t have to see me in my ugly cargo work pants” he said.
I laughed it off to hide the blush in my cheeks from his sheer cuteness. We both proceeded to find places to share a few drinks and eat dinner. It’s England and I wanted the best. A nice expensive restaurant with grandiose chandeliers and rose centerpieces. After all, the best dates have to have some glitters and gold to be called “the best”.
But in the next thirty minutes I had been hit with scraps and grey as he told me he didn’t want to spend too much money and was too tired for something formal. On top of that, we spent a great deal of time walking around trying to find a decent place that wasn’t super full during happy hour. My patience began to run thin. And his charm decreased with each step I took to find that bar or restaurant that best suited his needs. It was utterly selfish. The romantic ambiance that I had envisioned tonight washed away. I mean was dating just not meant for me? I just couldn’t seem to get it right. This was supposed to be my moment to shine. Our initial laughs and smiles went to awkward silence as frustration grew. I crossed my arms and hunched my shoulders with a stern expression. We both were not happy.
He grabbed my arm and stopped me and said “How can I make this better?”.
I shrugged it off and replied “I don’t know”.
To my surprise this humble yet flirty smile grew on his face followed by a wink. “Ok then let me show you how to have fun mate”.
He walked me to the nearest Tesco Express(which is basically the British 7 Eleven) and proceeded to buy 2 six packs of cider. We then walked towards St James’s park, sat down on a bench, and just talked. There were lush trees overlooking monuments as people walked and took pictures. It was rich enough to be that glitter I was expecting at a formal restaurant. We began talking like we did in the original Tinder conversation.
“It’s generalization with a Z not an S!” I would playfully argue with him.
To which he said “Well then you rubbish Americans really need to look at the original English dictionary”.
“Okay Prince Charles unlike you I am fine without the need to follow rules made with a feather hundreds of years ago”.
Each argument won would equate to one more cider chugged. I would try and push his buttons by sticking my pinky up in his face each time I drank, but he seemed to enjoy my vain attempt at offending him.
He chuckles and says “You are so cute when you struggle so hard like this”.
“Shut Up! You know what I still get first place for trying!” I reply in a tantrum while spilling my cider over my dress. We both start crying out of laughter. Most of the time neither one of us would reach a consensus as to who was right, so we both ended up getting equally shit faced.
As St. James Park closed we decided to just go for walk in the city. Our drunken adventure across London felt like a Holly Golightly and Paul Varjak kind of stroll through Tiffany’s. I commented on every bougie trinket I saw while he made sure my carelessness didn’t land me anywhere unpleasant. A few blocks more and my body halted to the yellow and red lights that gleamed in front: McDonald’s. God I hadn’t had their chicken nuggets in forever.
I looked up and asked “What do you say for a little post-drinking debate snack kiddo?”
“Sure darling what do you have in mind?” He replied.
Woah he went from calling me mate to darling.
“How do you feel about chicken nuggets from McDonalds?” I asked.
He kissed my head and chuckled “Whatever her fine lady desires will be giveth.”
I burst out laughing. But wait a second. Did I actually just leap down from Gordon Ramsay to Ronald McDonald? But my body felt inclined to walk through those doors and indulge in that nostalgic grease-trap. I felt so embarrassed but okay with it.
We walked in and the diner aroma that I hadn’t smelled in years filled me. I almost wanted to cry. It was a time travel back into this safe space that I used to feel playing with my super-hero toys in my Happy Meals. We placed an order for a 20 piece chicken nugget meal. I received my ticket that had the number 1 on it.
He chuckles and points to it, “At least your number one here”.
My jaw drops open and I give him a playful punch as he hugs me tight. As he brought me close, I nuzzled my head tight in his chest. The smell of the fries, the ketchup, and the glory fast food diabetes took me back to my inner child. It was almost like this weird Freudian way of dating. Home in juvenility. This was way better than any fancy/cliché date I dreamed of. He was teaching me something more desirable. Simplicity. His arms radiated a warmth so secure I felt like I could tackle on the world. We didn’t care about any PDA disapproval. I just kept swaying on my feet with a smile on my face.
There is no one straightforward answer as to why this was the best date ever. But in the course of the past two hours, I got to take each minute at a time. Each nook and corner of the Swinging City became one zoom in picturesque. A rare chance to indulge in my lost adolescence. Munching those warm chicken nuggets, I could feel the weights of my antiquated glitters and gold presumptions dissolve, like a much needed “unbitchify” detox. That to me seemed like a good enough reason for a good enough guy. And while me and my Brit broke it off in a rather sappy goodbye when I left back for the U.S., I came back feeling a new me. A new me that didn’t need the best of the best to have fun. A new me that realized things weren’t as bad as they seemed, if not beautiful.
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