blush

We’re three hours into our first and, let’s face it, last date and I’m beginning to wonder if he’ll ever stop talking about himself long enough for me to interject.

Why did I stay so long? I simply don’t know. Is it low self-esteem? A misplaced sense of duty? Or a jaw-dropping, if slightly morbid, curiosity, now piqued on this quiet Saturday afternoon (one that wants to see just how badly it will all pan out).

I am now merely a witness to my own poor choice of afternoon companion.

How did I get to here? It’s a short chain of events really. He’s a handsome, gregarious man who works in the charity sector. I thought he was fun, a bit laddish, yes, but with an appealing social conscience that seemed to cancel out the little voice at the back of my mind, the one that was picking up the warning signs and suggesting I change course.

He stops long enough to take a bite of his sandwich. When he starts up again, he is comparing himself to Ghandi. I tune out for good but I’m reminded of the last time I agreed to a date with a man because, and I am embarrassed to admit this, of what he did for a living. Say it quietly. For shame.

Years ago, when I was living in the US, I met a smart, very bearded lumberjack-shirted geologist. Geologist? In the small town I was living in, that was definitely unusual to say the least. I was intrigued.

He offered to take me out for a curry - another unusual first in an oh-so quiet suburb of Boston, Massachusetts. I’d missed our national dish and, he seemed to know where I could get a fix.

He drove me, in his aptly-named pick-up truck, to an out-the-way curry house, in an out-the-way neighbourhood. Shirt and beard aside, I was charmed.

It was so refreshing to be around man who wasn’t a sports jock but as soon as our food order was out the way, he opened with:

“I just need to make it clear, from the start, that I’m not some kind of tree hugging hippy type. Far from it. I am employed by companies like ICI to help them get away with as much environmental contamination as possible. That’s just the way it is.”

I didn't know what to say. He offered me the poppadoms.

“Just so there isn’t any confusion…” he concluded.

I was suddenly aware that I was probably not the only woman who had agreed to go on a date with this man because of his being a geologist. I felt ashamed of myself and horrified for, and at, him.

Call me superficial, but I couldn't see myself dating a man who was wilfully damaging the environment - especially in a lumberjack shirt and a full-on man-beard.