Tag Archives: How I Met Your Father

How I Met Your Father: The Stalker Effect

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Kids, the journey to meeting your Dad was a long, often humorous, sometimes scary and exciting one. Although the 28 Dates challenge kept me busy, I somehow managed to find the time to rack up a stalker or two too…

New Year’s Eve 2013 …

Mr Winchester, my not-so-reliable Opel Corsa GSI and I were cruising along Main Road in Observatory, on our way to your Nan’s so that your aunt S could have him while I rang in 2014 with friends, when this red Corsa  and his driver kept following us and blowing his horn at us.

Naturally, we didn’t even give them a second glance because a) we were far too busy rocking our signature drive tune, Eye of the Tiger, at full blast and b) after the Prince of Egypt, I no longer looked or smiled or encouraged strangers in ANY way.

But Red Corsa’s driver was persistent and followed us all the way to Iman Haron Road in Claremont, catching my attention while we were stationary at a traffic light. “What?!” I asked somewhat tersely. “Your back wheel is about to fall off. Pull over and let me help you,” he responded.

I thought this guy was taking a fat chance so I waved him off and said I’ll have it looked at, and drove off but he proceeded to follow me all of the way to Rosemead Avenue and insisted I let him help me.

By now, I was seriously worried that something indeed was wrong with my back wheel and because I was an inexperienced driver and car owner, I followed the Red Corsa Driver into a side road, to let him take a look at it. Yes, I know, “Stranger Danger!” – What the heck was I thinking?!!

Anyway, to cut a long story short, the driver turned out to be mechanic named Jeremy who just so happened to specialize in Opels, and considering the numerous issues Mr Winchester had been giving me in the nine months I’d had him, meeting this guy seemed like a gods-send, right?

After allowing Jeremy to fix my wheel, drive me to the closest Engen garage for brake-fluid, paying him for his efforts, making arrangements for a check-up the next week and giving him my number, I made the colossal mistake of revealing I didn’t have a boyfriend, fiancé or husband.

Look, I’ll be honest, I enjoyed having him tell me that a pretty girl like me shouldn’t have to take care of a sports car by herself but seriously it seemed like no more than an innocent ego boost on the last day of the year, and all I saw Jeremy as was a means to fix my car. If only that had been the end of it…

Later that evening, as I settled in for a Dr Who NYE marathon ( don’t judge me, as Cape Town’s resident socialite who attended way more parties than the average person, a night in on the couch with friends was the only way I wanted to spend December 31), Jeremy texted me to ask if the car was ok. I responded that it was but then he started asking about what I was up to (classic code for “booty call”). When I didn’t respond, he began calling me at random intervals, which I ignored too.

By now, I was a little freaked out… what had started as purely a means to an end was becoming decidedly weird and stalker-like.

This pattern continued in much of the same manner for the next week – he’d call and I’d ignore him until one morning, at 2 am, my phone rang again.

Kids, my small apartment in the City Bowl has always felt like a safe haven, from the minute I stepped into it, but that night, knowing someone was actively stalking me and as irrational as it sounds, possibly parked outside in my street (even though I hadn’t given him my address, who’s to say he hadn’t taken down my car registration number?), I was seriously frightened!

Eventually, I blocked Jeremy from calling me – so he could dial my number but his call would be stopped – and life settled back into normalcy…

Until one morning three months later, when I answered a call from a private number, thinking it was your Nan calling. When I answered with a casual “Hello”, Jeremy said: “Oh, so you do know how to answer your phone. Do you know who’s speaking?” I pretended not to know who he was and ended the call.

A few minutes later, I received a text from him saying: “Wow, if I had known how rude you were, I’d never have been interested. I get the message, I won’t contact you again.”

What the actual F***?! Are you serious, dude?! You stalked me for months, I avoided your calls so clearly I’m not interested and you want to lecture me on etiquette? Oh, hell no! This not 50 Shades of Grey –get a freaking life, pal!

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I thought I was rid of the creepy, I-want-to –tie-you-up-in-my-basement-type until …

June 2014…

Mr Fix It was your Great Gramps’ and Uncle D’s family mechanic, who did wonders on their fleet of vans and your Nan’s Yaris too so naturally, when Mr W was once again having a starter switch issue, I turned to him.

I had a sick week off work and was spending it at your Nan’s, to help her pack and host farewell parties before she jetted off to Melbourne for a two week work trip (yes, that’s your grandmother’s style, leaving for 14 days but hosting parties like she’s immigrating!) so Mr Fix It came by every day to tend to the car. Consequently, we spent a hell of a lot of time together, which sadly Mr Fix It misconstrued as us falling in love.

Here’s the thing: I have always been remarkably good at being a guy’s best girl (as in platonic) friend – I’m the chick you tell your deep, dark insecurities and secrets to, who will match you in eating the most junk food and discuss the intricacies of a fight between Batman and Superman.

I am also super friendly, so I will ask you about your mom, your dad, and your day, how you like your coffee and what your plans are for the weekend. BUT, and here is the important thing: I am NOT flirting with you – at ALL!

I’m serious, Kids, I wasn’t – in fact, on more than one occasion that week, Mr Fix It saw me in all of my un-combed hair, brunch- gobbling glory – it wasn’t pretty! So why the heck he thought this was the start of a beautiful relationship, I have no freaking clue.

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Besides making his intentions to marry me known to my grandfather (who, bless him, gave Mr Fix It one look and said “You’re no match for my granddaughter!”), religiously asking my aunt and uncle if they had seen me AND sending me random texts to ask what I’m up and why I wasn’t responding to his texts; Mr Fix It started hanging out with your Nan’s friends, in the hopes of running into me at a social event. Gods Almighty, man, get the picture: I’m just not that into you!

It’s been months and I haven’t received a text from the poor guy in a while – let’s hope it stays that way.

I have more than enough trouble keeping the Mr Eagers of the world in check, I don’t need Christian Grey wanna-bes dogging my every move too.

F*** it! Next!

How I Met Your Father: The Set-Up Man

blind date ctgirlwiththeredscarfKids, in the winter of 2015 I found myself at the center of yet another set-up/ blind date scheme by one of my well-meaning friends. While I admit I was intrigued by the prospect of meeting someone who’d been vetted and vouched for by someone who loves me, it got me to thinking about my previous, somewhat failed set-up attempt …

December 2013 …

Your Aunt E had been raving about Silver Fox Writer for the three weeks since she and the others had issued the 28 Dates challenge, insisting we’d be perfect for each other since we both had such a great love for the written word and travel. She’d given him my number so all I had to do was wait patiently for him to contact me and set up the date.

Which, thankfully, he didn’t dally about doing and so we were all set for a drinks date at Café Mojito in Long Street the following day.

Nervous as all hell, I arrived 10 minutes early, checking out every seemingly single male who walked through the door; anxiously wondering what he looked like ( E had said he’s hot), how old he was ( E pegged him for early 40s,which yes, was considerably older but hey, it was just a f***ing date, right?) and whether he would like me or not ( remember, I hadn’t dated anyone in a while, besides the Prince of Egypt and we all know how well that turned out!).

Silver Fox Writer arrived on time (bonus brownie points) and he was extremely charming. We ordered drinks, chatted about careers, why we’re still single, family life (he had a daughter), cities we loved visiting and more.

Yes, he was handsome, easy to talk to and I began to relax, thinking that dating an older man wasn’t going to be all that difficult until …

Ten minutes into the date, when we’d barely even touched our drinks, Silver Fox Writer leans over, grabs my arm and says: “Look, I really like you … so where is this going?”

Whoa, Cowboy, hold your horses there for a sec! Everyone always says girls go big on the end resulting {forecasting the future of the relationship with images of meeting the friends and family, moving in together , weddings and babies etc) but obviously they haven’t heard of guys, and older ones especially, doing it too.

I responded with a coy “ let’s see how well date number one goes, shall we?” and tried to get the date back on track but then he dropped the bombshell that he was 52 and had a 19-year-old daughter… gods almighty! This man was the same age as your Nan, Kids … not cool!

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Look, I am no ageist – in fact, at that point in time, I was harbouring a serious celebrity crush on 49-year-old Johnny Depp, but I had to be realistic about things. Silver Fox Writer was no Captain Jack Sparrow – I wanted babies, you guys, and this man was not in the baby-making business when he already had a grown daughter. Simply put, I was just not that into him.

As we parted ways with a fumbled goodbye kiss, I realized I wasn’t all that disappointed that things hadn’t worked out on this set-up.

If anything, the experience taught me that while your loved ones have your best interests at heart and are trying to do an amazing thing for you, what they see as a great choice for you and what you want for yourself are two completely different things.

Back in 2015…

Now I find myself in a similar situation and this time, I am going to be smarter about things.

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Impala Fanatic is  a single, older man and seems stable-looking, if his Facebook photos are anything to go by ( yes, I’ve stalked his page, this is what dating in the 21st century looks like – you get to know the basic details from the Internet).

My friend swears we’re made for each other with our similar interests and personalities. I’ll be the judge of that when we have this date but if we aren’t soul mates … well, it’s just a f***ing date, right?!

How I Met Your Father: The Speed Dating Wars

 speed_dating_london_event-840x550Kids, a huge part of the dating scene for the singles struggling to meet The One are speed dating events. Since I was on this quest to meet your father, naturally the 5 minute roundabout of talking to strangers formed part of my mission – with various degrees of success and failure.

February 2014…

Something I’ve instilled in you since before you could talk is to try crazy and new things because you never know where the next adventure might lead to. That’s the frame of mind I was in when I signed up for the Cosmopolitan Guinness World Record Speed Dating event back in 2014.

Sure, I had to fake being ill so I could get out of work to attend the event (and no, don’t even think about doing the same thing, my progeny!) and avoid the TV cameras filming the event so that my bosses wouldn’t catch me in the act, but for the chance to meet 200 plus other singles who might or might not be my soul mate, I risked it.

As you can well imagine, with so many love-seeking individuals, things got quite chaotic. I “dated” close to 20 people that day and by Bachelor number 10, I’d forgone all pleasantries and just opened with “So, what’s your favourite Marvel character?”.

Some guys found it funny, others did not …and one guy loved it so much, we went to Cafe Caprice for post-event drinks! Yay, success! RJ was a doctor, from Stellenbosch, who had been bullied into attending the event because his best friend refused to do it alone – thank the gods!

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As had been the case with our short date, we couldn’t stop talking about how much we had in common (series, chocolates, comic book characters, cities we’d love to visit etc) and I really thought he was amazing. RJ gave me his number and took mine, promised to tick me off on the score sheet as someone he’d definitely like to see again and that he’d call me…which he didn’t.

I was a little gun shy about speed dating for a while until …

February 2015…

You guys know how much I love Valentine’s Day… no, seriously, it’s one of my all-time favourite days and not just because I get to feast on chocolate like the world will never end.

It’s linked to some of my best childhood memories, helping your Nan decorate heart-shaped cookies for your granddad in years when they were struggling financially and it’s the only thing she could afford to give him … or it might also have been symbolic for what she’d give him later that night, but whatever, let’s stick to the “I’ll love you through richer and poorer” theory before I scar all of us for life!

The point is, I love this holiday but in 2015 I wasn’t about to spend the month of amore alone yet again so off I went to a Lock and Key Speed Dating event at the 80s Disco club in Claremont.

As the name suggests, everything about the club was retro, right down to the dark interior and leather couches, which apparently inspired couples to get up close and personal … a feature I tried the better part of the evening trying to avoid.

With more than 20 people arriving for the event, two things soon became apparent: 1.) There were far less men than women and 2) I was the youngest person at this event… crap!

The concept of the event was simple – guys were issued keys to see if they fit into the girls’ locks – and no, that’s not as dirty as it sounds. Every round would last 5 minutes before the bell would be rung and you’d swap partners. Simple, right? What could possibly go wrong?

Oh, my loves, so very, very much… Not only did I inadvertently ended up “”dating” a prominent Iger ( Instagram user) who was  a VIP on my company’s followers list but a handsy, 50-something-year -old Don Juan inappropriately propositioned me too.

I’m not kidding … he just straight up asked me if I wanted to get out of there and make the night interesting in his car. WTF?!!!

The experience left me with an out of body feeling, and I was conscious of thinking throughout the next several “dates”, “Lady, what the hell are you doing? Is this really what you’ve been reduced to? Making asinine small talk with the ones Cupid forgot? You deserve better!”

I dragged myself home to drown my sorrows in a tub of Nutella and a viewing of Alexander Skarsgard, my one true Swedish actor love, in The Giver, while vowing never to speed date again.

BUT…

It’s been four months and maybe I should give it a spin again… who knows? Your Dad might just be number 52 at the next roundabout, keen to chat Marvel characters, chocolate brands he can’t live without and your future names 😉

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How I Met Your Father: Mr Over Eager

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Kids, the 28 dates journey to meeting your Dad had its trying moments … over  the first 18+ months, I met all kinds of guys – the hot and jerk like; the mature and childish; the no –shows and … the over eager.

This particular type of male was a special breed, most notable for his zealous need to please you, his almost reverent need to include you in future plans and tie you down (and you could never be too sure that this wouldn’t include cable ties!) and his astounding capability to turn into a scarier version of Arnold Schwarzenegger’s Mr Freeze when you tried, very gently, to put the brakes on this not-so budding relationship.

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You guys remember Surfer Dude, the small town guy looking for Ms Right in the Mother City, right? Well, to explain how that went to hell at an alarming rate, let me tell you about all of the boys I didn’t love before…

November 2013…

A week after my friends and your godparents challenged me to the 28 Dates, I was walking across Greenmarket Square during my lunch hour, minding my own business when a kind-looking man smiled at me.

Usually, I ignore guys like this because they might be creeps, but I’d agreed to be more open to new possibilities with the 28 Dates thing, right, so I smiled back and thus began a 10 minute conversation with, let’s call him Prince of Egypt, about my gorgeous smile, how I’m the first friendly person he’d met in Cape Town and could he take me out for coffee?

Flattered, and surprised at how easy my dating challenge could be, I gave the Prince my number and we agreed to meet at Vida e the next afternoon after work.

On the designated day, Vida e had already closed for the day, and so I texted the Prince to meet me at the café next door. He arrived 10 minutes late but hey, since he’d been closing up to the general trading store he’s manages ,I couldn’t be mad at him.

The late issue I could move on from and even politely turning him down for dinner at Mesopotamia which he’d apparently booked for, when I had expressly said I could only meet for coffee as I had an event that night, is something I could overlook; but it’s what happened next that sent me running for the hills faster that you could say “Magic carpet ride!”

After idle chatter for 15 minutes about careers, him telling me that I was incredibly beautiful but too old to still be unmarried, him boasting about his home in Goodwood that he was renovating to bring his large extended family to live with him at, the car he drove, the amount of money he makes which is more than enough to support a (second!) wife with; I started to suspect that all was not well with his not-so-royal highness.

The Prince was slightly uncomfortable with my choice of venue, as it serving alcohol was against his religious beliefs and surely it should be against mine too, considering my name. I explained my agnostic views and he tried to understand, saying that he is sure his mother and sisters could help me find my way back to the path, when he took me home to meet them in Morocco…. Wait, what?!!!

How, in the name of all of the gods, did we go from a coffee date to Meet the Parents in the desert?!! And why would this man think I’d go all willy nilly with him, with no money, family or friends to a foreign country? Anyone else get a Sally Fields ‘Not without My Daughter vibes here?!

Thanks, but no thanks, Prince… I think I prefer the land of the free where I can be my awesome, non-religious, independent self, thank you very much! After a month of “Let me take you out and take care of you because it’s wrong for a woman of your age to be alone and husbandless” texts, the Prince finally got the message to go bride-hunting elsewhere.

Which made me wary of smiling at strange men or chatting to those professing the need to take me out because I am so utterly irresistible until…

December 2014…

Lonely Emo was a late 20s, young entrepreneur from Gordon’s Bay, who had travelled the world and was keen to try the Mother City dating pool once again. He loved my exotic look, my deep love for reading and travelling and was keen to take me out for ice cream if I was free.

We couldn’t quite agree on which beach to stroll along for this ice cream meet-up so we settled for Primi Piatti V&A.  Lonely Emo arrived before I did, had snagged a prime viewing spot and was a big huggy bear type with a great smile. I had hope that this would be a great date.

And it was, for the most part. We chatted about past travels, places he’d lived in, our families, our interests etc. It was around the “So, why are you on this dating site?”, that things took a turn for the weird.

As it turns out, Lonely Emo, though a year younger than me, had been married for four years to a gorgeous Lebanese woman ( hence his love for my “exotic look”), and they had lived happily in London and India for two years, when tragedy struck – she had ovarian cancer and had sadly passed away.

Now, Kids, I am no stranger to loss and in fact, just participating in the28 Dates challenge had taken a lot of courage in allowing myself to open up to other people but this was a little on the heavy side for me. Judging from your Nan’s numerous suitors following your granddad’s death, no one likes being the rebound guy or girl after the dearly departed spouse because you always feel like you can’t measure up to their memory.

But, I wasn’t ready to give up quite yet so when Lonely Emo suggested we have a follow-up date, I agreed. I was slightly freaked out but pleased when within half an hour of the date, he called me to say that he had a really, REALLY great time and he couldn’t wait to see me again.

Which would have been a great place to leave me wanting more, but then two hours later, he sent me a six part text telling me how beautiful I am, how incredibly lucky he is I agreed to date him, that he was so nervous about spending time with me and that he was looking forward to the next time.

A+ for enthusiasm, dude, but leave something for date 2, right? After responding that I had had a great time too, I didn’t hear from him for three days when suddenly I received a barrage of texts from 7am to enquire about whether I knew that manager at Primi Piatti, because they were taking money from his account without his permission.

When I said I didn’t, I received a curt “Fine, I’ll sort it out” message and the insinuation that I was helping the restaurant in robbing him. Talk about a mind-coitus! From “You’re the most beautiful girl in the world!” to “You stole my wallet and my heart!” in a mere three days? That’s an all new record for me being dumped, Kids!

Suffice it to say, I never heard from Lonely Emo again and I was done with falling for the super keen but then…

June 2015…

Surfer Dude had been my second most favourite candidate of the three I had set up dates with in late May even if I initially wanted nothing to do with him because unfortunately for him, he shared a name with the man who broke my heart.

At your godmother and Uncle T’s insistence that I couldn’t hold one man’s crimes against his namesake, I gave Surfer Dude my number and didn’t hear from him for a few weeks. When I finally worked up the courage to ask him if he was still interested, he immediately responded with a resounding yes and started texting me.

Now, Kids, because I work in social media and I am in contact with thousands of people all day, I prefer not to do much online chatting in my free time – I am all about being present with the person in the moment, face to face. I explained as much to Surfer Dude, who wasn’t that keen on not chatting but agreed since we would then have more to talk about on our date the following week.

When he asked for a photo of me in exchange for the one he’d sent, which I hadn’t asked for, I explained that I wasn’t comfortable sending them to him and asked him to please be content with the (fully-clothed) ones he could see on my profile. Trust me on this, my loves, the Internet is forever – you do not need any inappropriate images of yourself out there for the world to see.

We chatted on and off amicably for a week, about his move to Cape Town, work etc. until he started asking weird questions about whether I would still want to be intimate with other people if we had to start a relationship – great question for when you have the “exclusive talk” a month or two into seeing each other, not so much when you’ve only been chatting for a week.

He also had quite the ego – when I told him I’d been stood up by my date one Saturday, his flippant response was “Told you I am the man. That’s what happens when you date little boys.” A little bit funny, sure, but not what I needed to hear right then, and sensitivity would have gone a long way in his favour.

All the same, I was looking forward to our date. When he texted me to confirm the Monday before, I was ready to respond about how excited I was but then he asked for a photo again. I reiterated that I wasn’t comfortable doing so and asked him to please stop asking me as it was annoying.

Surfer Dude then went all Mr Freeze on me, accused me of being bossy and insisted we end things immediately. I politely told him that I wasn’t being bossy, I was explaining my boundaries to him and if he couldn’t respect them, then yes, by all means we should end things.

Like your godmother said: “Screw him! You do not have to lower yourself to his level by supplying him with masturbatory material! Freak!”

And she’s right, Kids… Finding your father is important, having you even more so but I do not have to degrade myself in the process.

To all my future suitors, take a leaf out of Aretha Franklin’s book:

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How I Met Your Father: New Year’s Eve in the Mother City

Kids, there is a lot of expectation that New Year’s Eve is meant to be a mind-blowing,life changing experience, spent in the midst of thousands of gyrating individuals somewhere ridiculously expensive and easily forgotten.

Here’s what I know for sure: I rang in 2015 on the rooftop of what is arguably the most gorgeous apartment I’ve ever seen, surrounded by some of the most loving, inspiring and amazing souls I’m lucky enough to call my friends.

Stick to that formula, my loves, and you’re guaranteed to have the most EPIC year ever xxx