OxStu's Guide to Pulling this Valentines Day
Clare Says...
It was meant to be a challenge. I think they thought it would be funny. Well, they were wrong. Because I found a date, actually, on the infamous Oxford Romance - he came, he saw, he stayed to drink coffee. Step forward, MentalMenthol.
Yes, it's an alias. So he wouldn't let me publish his real name. So what? His picture's on the website if you feel the urge. Under 'male seeks either', though he assures me he's "very straight." I wondered at the time if he did it just to sound interesting, but the poor guy was so hungover he was still drunk, so I kept quiet. Sipping my mocha in the Blackwell's café, I listened as he told me about his french horn, smiling nicely, and waiting for him to say the words 'band camp'. Dear readers, it was a triumph.
Admittedly, things didn't always bode so well. As I sat at my laptop on Friday afternoon, logged in to OxRom under the agreed "wants date in real world" headline, things were looking by no means promising. Natalie had told me she was "deluged" with offers as soon as she put herself up: "It's amazing. They love me." I've been on here five minutes and have not had a single message. I check my ad. I wait. And I wait.
Two messages later: I have chickened out and told a potential date that I'm writing a feature for the OxStu. But you look nice, I tell him. Will you still meet me? He will. Blackwell's, Sunday, one o'clock.
So here I am. I avoid lonely embarrassment by taking my book of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, and sit at a table, making notes, until someone who looks a bit like the photo on the website comes up the stairs. He glances at me. I smile hopefully. "Are you Clare?" Yes, I beam. I am.
The date turns out like the kitchen when my tidy housemate comes home: sorted. MentalMenthol and I have a lovely chat, and he even wants me to use the article to give him some OxRom publicity. So, ladies: look him up on the website and invite him for a drink. He's really nice. Meanwhile, I sit back and listen smugly as Natalie relays her own spectacular... what was that word again? Flop?
Natalie Says...
Bloody Bevis. Not only was this all her stupid idea in the first place, (whatever she may claim) but then she cheats and tells her date that she's writing about it for the OxStu, whilst I am left meeting someone that I know only by the pseudonym 'Plato', who has no idea that I'm intending to fuck him metaphorically rather than literally.
Plus, it's Bevis who's responsible for the whole thing being so last minute. As a nice girl at heart, I was a bit shy about thinking up the text for my original ad, and so she said that she'd do it for me, after all, 'it's always easier to see what your friends want than they can.' Two weeks later I check into my account, wonder why I have no messages, and then read (complete with typos) 'can be very sarcastic. like stealing signs. seraching for man hwo not gay in oxford.'
As it's now getting near the day of doom (or rather the print deadline), I have to take drastic action, and replace ad with 'Wants date in the real world. Tomorrow'. Rather surprisingly, people reply. And one in particular seems very keen. In fact, his first reply is 'When?'. 'Eight' I type, 'Where?'. 'Carfax.' 'See you then.'
Some would say that I was mad to go. Thing is, with that exchange, there were two possibilities a) utter freak or, as I delusionally allowed myself to believe b) strong decisive type, who wishes to maintain an elegant air of mystery, so confident that he doesn't want to waste time on small talk.
Obviously a) shows up. Although a) is possibly a bit unfair. He is a 25 year old medievalist who also likes Wagner and the classics, whereas I, er, edit the OxStu. Meeting of minds, it ain't. And one can safely say that the physical spark isn't there either. Though, of course, rather irritatingly, because there is no sexual attraction whatsoever, I do the typically perverse thing of behaving flirtily. Never, ever, with anyone I actually fancy the pants off do I find myself following the rules: leaning over to show cleavage, flicking hair seductively, braying inanely at bad jokes etc, but somehow here I can't stop myself.
And the bastard still doesn't even ask for my number. I blame Bevis.
6th Feb 2003