The table was booked, admittedly with an awkward number (11 – the additional 1 was you guessed it – me – husbandless and happy about it!). Luckily the hotel managed to squeeze us all at a table with no one person sitting at the top (which I feared would be me) and I found myself in the midst of five couples – Mammy and Papabear, Firstbrother and Preggers, Middlebro and The Baker, Babybro and Sisinlaw, and Lilsister and Scarydancer.
Having only had two beers in ten minutes with Papabear before leaving the house, I was relatively sober when Middlebro put an arm around me at the table, and asked me how my sex life was going. ”It is not,” I gently informed him, sensing the disappointment rising up in his soul. There immediately followed a lecture on dating and the 38 year old woman, which involved the usual encouraging words such as ”get out there”, ”meet people” and the dreaded ”internet dating” that I have heard about and which to my credit, I did dabble in when I lived in Melbourne last year. In a short space of time I had ”met” what appeared to be a perfectly normal functioning male who didn’t look horrific and appeared to have what I like to call ”wit”. Some jokes cracked over instant messaging and a date was arranged. As I hadn’t been on a date in ten years, and the last time I had been on a date I had been so drunk I couldn’t remember it, I decided to have a glass of wine beforehand in a nice bar just down the road from the nice bar I was to meet my bespectacled friend in (did I mention I do like a man with glasses and this bloke wore some in his picture, so he was 50% there already).
They knew me well in my little nice bar and were quite generous with my white wine, which I gulped down greedily, hoping for a wine buzz within a short space of time. One was not forthcoming after 30 seconds, so I bought another practically full glass and took my time with it, taking nearly three minutes to down it!
At this stage I was almost late for my date, so I ran down the stairs of my nice bar and up a bloody hill to the nice bar I was meeting Glassesman in. I found him, and bought us both large glasses of wine, which, in my nervous state, I drank quite quickly, and realised I needed the loo.
Whilst in the loo I texted my work friends to say no, I had not been murdered, and things were okay, but I was a little disappointed that Glassesman was not actually wearing his glasses. It was a bit of a turnoff really. They replied not to lose heart, or if I was losing heart, to get the hell out of there. I checked the train times and I had about twenty minutes till mine was due.
I ran out, nearly falling up and down some steps I hadn’t realised were there, and went back to my Notsobeloved. He asked me if I wanted another drink, and I looked disappointingly into his face, only to realise yes, he WAS wearing glasses and yes, it had been a bad idea to drink the majority of a bottle of wine on an empty stomach. But I still had twenty minutes, so I got another glass, and quite literally fell onto my train twenty minutes later.
I did not get a chance to tell Middlebro any of this, such was the forcefulness of his lecture. Basically what it boils down to is this – if I don’t start slutting around soon, my brother will take great offence and possibly beat me. I don’t want to offend my brother, so I had better find a willy to start having sex with.
My brother also reminded me that I was attractive, and did not look my age and was a general good person to know and while I am sure he has to say those things to his sister, it was still nice to be told and restores my faith in men somewhat, that they cannot all be cheating, lying scumbags.
I promised my brother that I would go speed dating soon, as he seems to believe that this will be my salvation, and if nothing else it will be something to tell my nieces about when they get older as I will not be unfortunate enough to have children of my own to tell stories to. They will think I am fabulous, and if they are thirteen years or older I will buy them beer behind my brothers’ backs. Hurray!
Middlebro patted me on the shoulder and reinforced his message telling me again that I had my looks, and that he did not want to have this conversation with me in ten years time, when my looks would be going. Allegedly I still ”have it” and should go out and shake it about.
It is truly lovely to be looked after by a big brother, even if he is five years younger than me. I like being his little sister.