What’s the worst chat up line you’ve ever heard?
Here are ours…
Catherine: Do you like chocolate? (‘Yes’) Well, drop your snickers and I’ll give you a boost.
Jan: You’ll do.
Celia: My wife doesn’t understand me. No really, someone said it to me.
Laura: Do you paint your hair?
Lucie: You scrub up well!
Debbie: Get your coat on, you’ve pulled!
Sue [heard about this] : Do you believe in love at first sight or shall I walk by again?
Liz: I’ll cook you dinner if you cook me breakfast!
Vanessa: Do you like big cars? (said by a French man with raised eyebrow and a smirk, waving a BMW keyring)
Tell us about your worst date:
Catherine: I went out on a date with a guy who I think fell in love with me immediately. He was far too hand-holdy for me. We went to the cinema which was fine, but as he thought it was going so well he asked me out to dinner … at McDonald’s. Not that I’m a snob, but it’s not my ideal date venue. Safe to say there was never a second date.
Sue : Went away for a camping weekend with husband (boyfriend at the time). Went on his motorbike. The exhaust burnt a hole in the panniers, which burnt my clothes (actually my sister’s, I had borrowed her trousers). Eventually set up the tent – it rained. Tent door wasn’t zipped up properly and our remaining clothes got soaked. Needless to say the weekend ended there and we went home less than 24 hours after leaving. That was my very brief and unsuccessful affair with camping.
Vanessa: Has anyone seen Pretty in Pink? Do you remember Andie and Blane’s first date? Well, that. But without the pink dress and the happy ending. I was at art college, used to indie nights at the student union, dancing to Nine Inch Nails in my Doc Martens. I met him at a friend’s party where I’d been forced to wear a dress and non steel toe-capped shoes so probably looked fairly normal. He asked me out and we arranged to meet in a bar where all the girls wore stilettos and lycra. I wore ripped jeans and DMs. I took him to a pub where all the boys wore black and had piercings. He had Hugh Grant hair and wore Chinos. I was home alone by 9.30pm and never saw him again.
Laura: A bad date? Hmm. It has to be one Gajitman and I shared on our honeymoon – that still counts as a date, right? We were in Venice, wet from the persistent rain, hungry from our day’s activities, and searching for something to eat. We had exhausted the pizzerias and pasta restaurants and were happy to find a cheap and cheerful burger bar. Back in those days, vegetarianism was not as popular in some European countires as it was in the UK, and the burger joint offered no meat-free alternatives, so I settled for fries in a bun. I consumed many chips and possibly two buns to restore my depleted energy levels. By the time we returned to the hotel, I was feeling ill. I rushed to the bathroom, knelt (because I could bend in those days) at the foot of the toilet and threw up. A chip made its escape through my nose. It was not a pleasant experience and no, I didn’t enjoy the food more, second time around. Gajitman entered the bathroom and leaned over the bidet. I was curious. ‘What are you doing?’ I asked. He glanced sideways and grinned. ‘If you’re sick, then I will be too. We’re married now and that means we do everything together.’
Celia: Asked back, aged 17, to meet my first husband’s parents I was totally over excited by the sight of their well-stocked drinks cabinet. At my house we had sweet sherry, and that was just for Christmas. After deep thought, I chose a brandy and babycham – cool or what? (We knew how to impress people in the seventies.) Taking a happy swig, I put it down next to me, not wanting to look greedy, and concentrated on making intelligent conversation. I had decided things were going quite well, when their round, smelly and much adored dalmation heaved herself to her feet, broke wind silently and waddled over to me. In the resulting confusion – windows being opened, etc, the dog bent to inspect my drink and slobbered right into my glass – long, glistening strings of dribble. Point of etiquette – should I mention it, and risk my future in-laws thinking I was a dog-hating snob, or take a deep breath and drink it. Well, what would you have done?
Jan: This wasn’t a date as such. Two guys – neither of whom were as tall as my friend or I – were chatting us up in the pub one night when we suddenly heard all this shouting and cheering going on over the far side. It was a strip -o-gram. Our two admirers were desperately craning their necks to ogle a glimpse of flesh but not being tall enough to see properly used mine and my friend’s shoulders for leverage. Nice!
Lucie: When I was about 14 I really fancied this boy and we had been texting for weeks. We finally arranged to meet up and I spent hours doing my hair and picking out some nice clothes. I walked into town and stood outside Woolworths; the agreed meeting point. I waited. I waited some more. I waited about two hours before I left. He stood me up. At 14, I was heartbroken. So technically not a date – although do you need both parties for it to qualify as a bad date?
Debbie: Same as Jan, this wasn’t on a date, but during a night out in the 80’s with a girlfriend when we met two young men in a bar.
My friend was soon engrossed with one of the guys. ‘Mine’ was quite good looking and we were having a laugh, although it was packed in the bar and the music so loud I couldn’t hear everything he was saying. I had to tell him to speak up a couple of times. Anyway, all of a sudden, he looked at me, his eyes glazed over and he kind of glared, and then, out of the blue, he head butted me!
‘Well, there’s no need for that!’ I shouted. Feeling shocked, I put a hand to my forehead to see if it was bleeding. Then I went mad. Seeing red, I tossed my drink in his face and slammed the glass down on a table but he grabbed for my arm and tried to say something which I couldn’t hear. His hair and shirt were soaked. My friend and his stood there open mouthed in amazement watching as I yanked my arm away, shouted, ‘Let go of me!’ and hurled some choice expletives at him.
By now everyone was staring at us and two bouncers came over and started leading us both towards the exit door. ‘Did you see what he just did?’ I said, feeling outraged.
The bouncers tried to calm things but my friend, now incensed, stepped in and began shouting at both men too. Before long we were all arguing and shouting over each other. I was still reeling and holding my head and by now, feeling really embarrassed and upset that we’d been kicked out.
It wasn’t until we were outside, without the loud music that the guy who’d assaulted me turned to me, his face totally sincere and full of horror at what had happened and said, ‘Look I’m really, really sorry. I didn’t head butt you, honestly. I just sneezed…’
Liz: I was seventeen, shallow and wearing heels that were put on this earth purely to dislocate ankles.
He had a sports car, weird hair but a good sense of humour. So what could go wrong?
I can’t remember where we had been, but on the basis that I hadn’t sneaked out of a back door or taken a call from a friend regarding an imaginary burst pipe in my imaginary house; it can’t have been a bad date. Until he dropped me home.
We had talked about a second date and I was keen to impress to him so I made sure I walked with a little extra wiggle across my drive way towards my front door conscious that he was watching me. And then it happened. The clunk. The clink. The thump.
My heel had slipped into the tiny gaps in the metre long grate that was in my driveway and as if there was some kind of secret cement, my heel was well and truly jammed.
I could feel my face redden as I became more aware of my date’s eyes on me as I tried to wriggle my heel to freedom. There was only one way to escape this nightmare situation and that was to pretend that there was nothing wrong.
A glance over my shoulder saw his confused and concerned expression, to which I beamed a smile of reassurance back. The show must go on.
I stepped forward dragging my troubled heel behind bringing with me the long narrow grate attached like a metallic ski until I reached the front door. The confused and concerned expression from my date had now evolved into a slow stunned shake of the head.
I knew before I had even attempted to walk into my house that this was going to be a problem because the length of the grate was bigger than the door. It was impossible for me to get into the house, but I had already made an idiot out of myself so what could possibly make the situation any worse?
Without hesitation, I bent down and unzipped my boot releasing a bright pink and white striped sock and without looking back I entered the house and refused to acknowledge the whole situation had ever happed.
Who ever knew his sense of humour was going to come in so handy?