Sometimes a date comes along that is so different you almost can’t believe it happened.

This guy was older than me, divorced, already had kids and worked in corporate PR so I thought at least we’d have things to talk about (understatement of the year). He picked a private club in the heart of Hedge Fund territory, which was lovely but very stuffy for a first date. No immediate chemistry but first dates can be like that so I tend to go with it.

He recommended the martinis so I ordered one with a hint of orange. Minutes later a man in a pristine white coat appeared with an ornate silver cart and elaborately mixed our martinis. Such pomp and circumstance for a drink that had, at most, two ingredients!

As we moved beyond the usual pleasantries, conversation flowed easily, although I started to notice he was dropping comments about 12 step programs all over the place. It wasn’t until we tucked into our second cocktails (I dumped the martini for my favourite the Old Fashioned!) that I was tipsy enough to ask him what experience he had of 12 step programs seeing as he was pounding back the booze.

Floodgates. Open.

On first dates you can discuss where you grew up, how many siblings you have, favourite places you’ve travelled to… Or you can discuss your date’s emotionless upbringing

So he starts telling me that one night he was watching TV and there was a programme about Ulrika Jonsson.(Ding: warning bells!) And she was talking about how she was a love addict (Ding ding!) – and he suddenly realised (DING!) that he, too, was a love addict. (Bell breaks…) So he joined Love Addicts Anonymous and after completing the program he’s in recovery. Now I was fascinated…

I mean sure, on first dates you can discuss where you grew up, how many siblings you have, favourite places you’ve travelled to, maybe even a brief relationship history. Or you can discuss your date’s emotionless upbringing where there were massive secrets and people left the room when certain questions were asked. Or how he discovered that the mysterious removed picture from the family lounge turned out to be of his grandfather wearing his uniform as a senior commander in the Nazi party (yes, really). You know, stuff like that.

Needless to say at this point I knew waaaaaaay to much and to be honest I had no desire whatsoever to shag him, even with two of the world’s strongest cocktails inside me. After finishing my drink I blamed the babysitter and said my goodbyes.

The next day I sent my perfunctory “Thanks for the drinks” message and he sent a slightly snotty/sarcastic one back saying he needed me to know that he wasn’t interested (ummm I hadn’t asked…) but he “wished me luck” in my search. I have to say on some level its a sad day when you get rejected by a love addicted Nazi grandchild but hey… I SO don’t feel bad about any of my oversharing!

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