Blind Date or how your friends might save you from moving to the Andes

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“So he didn’t ask for a picture and you neither?” Fia gave me one of her typical sceptical looks, which included the message “Are you nuts?” and to be honest that hit me pretty hard. Especially as I knew, somehow she was right. Like every Friday we met at our favourite sandwich bar to have lunch and to exchange the gossips of last week.

And actually she was REALLY right. Just open any tabloid newspaper and read about the awful things that are happening in the world – so how can you seriously think about having a “blind date”, especially if you haven’t even seen a picture of your “blind-object”?

I mean, isn’t it risky enough to look for Mr. or Ms. Right by meeting him or her in the old-fashioned way? Isn’t it like this – men and women are like water & oil, simply not able to be a perfect combination?

Just think about my achy-breaky-heart after the last object of my desire decided to cut my heart into pieces like a Shish Kebab. Well of course, the high streets in London were glad about the following shopping-boom caused by me. I got blisters on my feet from running up and down the pavements of the shopping-miles and I overheard the groaning of my credit card when I eventually overdid the buying of new dresses, handbags and of course shoes. This, plus the fact that I had changed to a creature whose appearance reflecting from the mirror I could only comment with the words “I don’t know you, so I’ll not put make-up on your face”. All this and much more should have given me a clue: “And then you want to meet a guy you’ve never even seen before?!?”

BUT – nothing ventured – nothing gained. I tried to calm Fia down. “How big are the chances to meet a serial killer when being on a date at a Greek restaurant?” Sarcasm was the only answer I had to keep my own insecurity down in order to stop questioning the sense of my plan. And I was really thankful that she now didn’t quote the latest criminal statistics, but rather gave me the advice to tell him about a planned gap year to the Andes which would probably last at least 5 years, just in case he was definitely no perfect match. Yes right, THAT’s a very plausible explanation for “no second date”. “Where are you going to meet him?” she asked me. “At a place called ‘Myth'” I replied. “Nomen est Omen”, she giggled. After having finished her glass of wine she left with the words “And I want to get a detailed report from you next week! Of course only if you haven’t settled down in the Andes already!”

She left me with a lot of thoughts and worries on my mind. What if he was one of these typically shallow guys you are bored to death with, or what if his therapist gave him the instruction to end his hatred on ladies and he messes “end” and “ladies” in a drastic way with me??!!

How most agreeable that ‘man’ was neither a serial killer nor shallow like a male WAG, but cultivated and witty. With a twinkle in his eyes, he admitted that he had similar worries on his mind before coming round. Happily smiling and enjoying the evening – thoughts of achy-breaky hearts and serial killers were not a topic any longer and all of a sudden even water and oil seemed to be the perfect combination…


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