Kids, in December 2015, I finally met up with Impala Fanatic (you remember, the set-up man my friend Anthea was so eager to have me meet), on a double date at the V&A Waterfront’s Quay Four.
As I got ready for this date at home, I actually felt a momentary feeling of excitement – the one I’ve seen in countless movies where the girl is looking in the mirror, applying make-up and dancing to music. Finally, it seemed to be happening to me…
After a crazy dash to the restaurant, I frantically looked around for my little group and, as Anthea said, Impala Fanatic saw me and immediately recognised me … aw!
Conversation flowed easily – he was funny, articulate, nice to the waitress, a real gentleman ( save for some off-kilter sexist jokes about how I must know how to cook because he likes to eat – sorry, dude, my oven is used as more of a decorative piece but you go on dreaming there, son) – and I settled into my first post-30 date.
I wasn’t nervous but I wasn’t bored either. I realised that whatever else this may or may not turn out to be, I was having fun, spending the night talking and socialising with like-minded folk. With no pressure placed on me by myself or anyone in the group, this was the most fun I’d had on a date in a while.
As the evening progressed, and he was leaning more and more into my space as well as placing his hand in the lower middle of my back, I was proud of myself for now finally being able to recognise when a guy was into me … yay me!
Fast forward to two weeks later and there hadn’t been a peep out of Impala Fanatic, despite how well the date had gone. Did I fret about it and anxiously check my phone every 2 minutes? No, because you know, whatever… we’re adults and we’re busy and maybe he’s just not that into me, and that’s ok.
The urgency that had seemed to dominate my twenties around dating and finding your father dissipated somewhat after turning 30 … besides, there were plenty more fish in the sea and lucky for you, one of them was your Dad 😉