Dating Stories: The Vegan Lady

I took a vegan to KFC. I mean not on purpose, it was just near the car park where we planned to meet.

Mum said KFC was appropriate for a vegan, “Because they can’t fucking cook.”

I said, “Can’t isn’t spelt with a K, and Immanuel Kant, the famous philosopher, might have been many things, but to say he couldn’t cook is unfair.”

Mum said, “Can’t fucking care.”

My date didn’t like the situation either. She said, “I don’t eat meat.”

I said, “Sure, that’s okay. I eat peas.”

She said, “I don’t like peas.”

I said, “Sure, I don’t like peas either. I don’t like baby peas. I’m the youngest in my family. I’d hate it someone ate me. I wonder if baby peas get beaten up by their older, brother peas, or if they get used as a test site for make-up designs by their older, sister peas?”

My date didn’t answer.

I said, “And minted peas. They sound rich. Like they’ve got all the green backs.”

I smiled.

She didn’t.

I said, “I actually do like peas.”

My date said she didn’t want to continue the date. She said she was really hungry and had to go.

I said, “You can eat the mash potato in there. There’s no meat in the gravy.” We checked. It is true.

My date ate the mash potato and gravy and she loved it. She said, “Thank you,” and she said she would see me again.

But I couldn’t see her again, because I googled more and it turned out that the mash potato has chicken fat in it. The gravy is safe, but not the potato. It’s not vegan.

My date didn’t know. She wanted to go again to eat more. Like it’s junk food for vegans, but it’s not. I didn’t know how to tell her. She was so happy.

But I did send her a message. I told her about the chicken fat. She wasn’t so happy then. Vegans can swear a lot. But it’s better she knows the truth. So that’s good for her. That’s a happy ending.

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Dating Stories: The Banana Lady

I hate it when people assume things about me. Especially when they’re right. Like the time I was at the supermarket near me. It has free fruit for kids. It’s not good fruit, not fruit they can sell, but fruit they give to families, because they’re a family friendly store.

Everyday I pass this free fruit it’s a reminder of the family I don’t have. Why should couples get everything. So this one day I took a banana. I was eating it and a security guard stopped me and said, “Hey, where’d you get that?”

I said, “What?”

He said, “The banana.”

I said, “I’m holding this for my kid.”

He said, “You don’t have kids.”

That’s not fair.

I said, “I do. Jimmy. He’s over there,” and I pointed.

The security guard didn’t look. He repeated, “You don’t have kids.”

I said, “Sure,” and pointed at some person. “That’s my wife Kate. She’s minding Tom, and Jimmy, and I’m holding Jimmy’s banana, or nar-nar as he calls it.”

The security guard said, “That fruit is store property. You can’t eat property without purchasing it first.”

I said, “Hansel and Gretel ate the ginger bread house. They didn’t take out a mortgage first. There wasn’t any auction or settlement. They just ate it.”

He said, “You’re going to have to pay for that banana,” and he took me to a cash register and placed the banana it on the scales.

I thought I’d make a joke, ‘cause it was silly, so I said, “Do you want the other half?”

He said to the cash register lady, “This ‘comedian’ here needs to pay for this. It was for the kids,” and so the lady puts her hand on the scale, and I don’t know what product she selected, but that half-banana cost me $49.86, and I didn’t even get to keep it. The bruised, not fit for actual sale, banana got thrown in the bin and I got walked out of the family friendly supermarket.

But before leaving I heard the security guard say to the cash register lady, “Thanks Honey.”

I’d like to assume he’s not being a bit sexist, so they’re a couple. So that’s good for them. That’s a happy ending.

Dating Stories: The Saddest Story Lady

Often before a gig I hear people say they’ve practiced their new material on their partner, just to check it wasn’t shit first. I don’t have a partner. As I approach forty I know that’s when most divorces happen, so, fingers crossed.

My date doesn’t have to be divorced. Maybe I can meet someone who’s just been cheated-on a lot, or who’s husband’s died. Maybe. Not all three. I don’t think I have the emotional reserves to handle someone who’s suffered all three.

I mean, the best I could sympathise with is this time Mum drove over my pet snail, and she replaced it with one from the garden. I could tell it wasn’t my Sluggy. I told Mum and she said it was, and I said it wasn’t, and she said it fucking was and if I kept this up she’d put me up for adoption.

She often said that.

She never did, but it didn’t make the feeling feel less real.

If I told a date all that, I don’t think I’d get a second date.

Thinking about it, it wouldn’t be so bad to met someone who had all three happen. In the order that someone was cheating on them, and they divorced them, and that person died.

I’d be okay with that.

That’ll be a happy ending.

In the meantime I’ll try new material on audiences. It might be shit. They might still laugh, and that’ll be good for them.

Dating Stories: The Birthday Lady

It was my birthday last week. At 4:30 in the morning Mum poked me awake with a stick.

She said, “Where’s my present?”

I said, “Oh, yeah, ah, Mum, last night I went on a date, and it was her birthday soon, and she told me her mum was buying her something. She said, ‘That’s normal’. She said, ‘Nobody does it the other way around’.”

Mum said, “Don’t believe what dates tell you. Remember, ‘You’re such as nice guy’ means ‘You’re dead-shit boring’, and ‘I’ll be in touch’ means ‘I don’t want to hear from you again’.”

I said to Mum, “But, you’ve never bought me a present in your birthday.”

Mum said, “I gave you the greatest gift of all. Life. What have you given me?”

I said, “Last year I gave you a bottle of gin.”

Mum said, “The year before that?”

I said, “It’s not all my fault. Vodka and gin are in the same aisle. They’re both clear. I’m sorry.”

Mum said, “I had to choke down that vodka with a bottle of Coke. Gin doesn’t even need Coke.”

I gave Mum a handbag with a bottle of gin in it. She gave me back the handbag. I keep socks in it.

I texted my date. She said I was really nice and that she’ll be in touch.

I hear she’s dating a fishmonger. Fish is really healthy. A good source of omega-3.

So that’s good for her.

Dating Stories: The Sweety Names Lady

I’ve never had a girlfriend, or partner. I think if I do I’ll use some sort of nickname for her. I’m not an overly formal guy. I’m not one who’d say, “Hello this is my friend, Margaret.”

“This is my partner, Margaret.”

“This is my fiancé, Margret.”

“This is my wife, Margaret.”

“Dearly beloved, we are here to mourn the passing of Margaret.”

Never Maggie.

I’d be Maggie straight away.

I couldn’t use a standard nickname though.

I’m not a “Babe,” kind of guy.

“Hey Babe.”

Yuck.

“I’ll just run it past the Ministry of War and Finance. He, he, he.”

No. I don’t want to be that kind of fuck wit.

“Savings account? More like spendings. He, he, he, he.”

Fuck wit.

No. I’ll come up with some name. Not Snook’ems.

I don’t know what. I haven’t meet her yet.

Mum said, “You’re never going to meet someone if you’re not going to call them by their name.”

I said, “I will at first. I just assume our relationship will evolve.”

She said, “Yeah, eventually you’ll put her off. Why don’t you just say ‘Hello Francis, nice to meet you, do you mind if I call you Francis?’”

I said, “I knew someone named Francis. We called him Franger.“

Mum said, “No-one should be called Franger. It sounds like I’m calling them Condom-head.”

Franger was okay with it. He meet a nice lady. She was named Dolorous. I can’t remember what nickname she had.

Anyway, they’re happily married and I never see them again. So that’s good for them. A happy ending.

Dating Stories: The HR Lady

I had to tell Doug at work not to flick me in the nuts.

He said, “We do it all the time at the cricket club.”

I said, “I don’t care.”

He said, “You can flick me in the…”

I said, “I don’t want to. It’s not on my to do list.”

Somebody heard and we had to see HR.

She said, “It’s lucky it’s not sexual harassment.”

Doug said, “I don’t want to fuck him.”

Which hurt my feelings. Just the part of my brain that wonders if I would succeed being homosexual.

Doug said he wouldn’t flick my nuts again, but he didn’t mean it. He thought that was political correctness gone mad. He did it again when we got downstairs.

His girlfriend came into work and I said, “Hey, mate, what if I offered to flick Christine in the vag?”

I got sent to HR for that. Apparently suggesting to a staff member that I should touch up their partner’s vaginal area is not company policy.

Mum said, “I’m surprised you know where a vagina is.”

I said, “I do read books.”

She said, “You’d learn a lot more from watching porn.”

I did have to watch a video online. It was a three hour tutorial about what parts of the body it’s okay to touch while in the work place. It’s mostly the hands. And head if something is stuck here.

Doug broke up with Christine. So she’s not touching his nutsack anymore.

He’s now going out with Suzan the HR lady. So that’s good for them.

Dating Stories: The Have Kids Lady

My date said, “I want to have kids,” which was off-putting because the waiter had arrived and I was about to order a steak sandwich.

I said, “You could try the veal.”

She didn’t find that funny.

I ordered and she said she wasn’t hungry but would have a pot of tea.

The waiter left and she said, “Are you ready for kids?” It sounded like they were about to shoot out from under the table.

I cupped my hands, bent over, and said, “Let them rip.”

She didn’t laugh.

Mum said I couldn’t raise children. She said, “You’d be horrible at it.”

I said, “There’s not much to it. Feed them, clean them, cloth them. Teach them to do those things until they can do them themselves.”

Mum said, “There’s more to it than that.”

I said, “How?”

She said, “Gin.”

I said, “Okay. What else?”

She said, “Hmmmmm, I forget the rest.”

My date drank her tea. I ate. The imbalance felt odd. I ate as quickly as I could.

She said, “Maybe you’re not there yet.”

I coughed on a section of rump.

She said, “I need someone who’s in the same place I am.”

I coughed again and gestured to the room we were in.

She didn’t laugh.

She said, “My boyfriend,” I coughed. She said, “My boyfriend doesn’t think he’s ready, but I think he is.”

I spat out a portion of steak onto the table.

She said, “Maybe I should talk to him again.”

So that’s good.

Anyway, I still haven’t gotten the handle of first dates. Do you order food or not?

Well, there’s a romance reunited. So that’s good for them. A happy ending.

Dating Stories: The Poop Fetish Lady

I was having coffee with a date. Well, she was having coffee, I was drinking orange juice that I was watering down.

She said, “Look, before we get too far into this, I need to tell you something. Before I have sex, I like it if the guy takes a shit on my chest.”

Now, this took me by surprise. I mean, I don’t suppose it’s normal, otherwise she wouldn’t have pointed it out. It would be for me to have known. After sex she might be all, Yeah that was good but where was the shitting part? You missed a step.

Anyway, I thought I’d be gentlemanly about it. I said, “Oh, is that right? Where did that come from?”

She said, “My last boyfriend.”

I said, “Oh. Do you plan to stick with it?”

Mum later told me, “It’s called a Cleveland Steamer. Which is different to a rusty trombone. That’s when you lick out someone’s arsehole.”

I said, “Thanks Mum.”

My date said, “Yeah. I just seem to like it like that. Do you think you could do it?”

I said, “I’m not sure.” I mean, I’ve never walked by a dog crap in the street and though, You know where that could be better placed? On someone’s chest.

She said, “Well, could you?”

I said, “Just wait,” and then I spent 10 minutes in the bathroom. After that I decided that, No. Shitting on command and then performing sexual acts was a talent I didn’t have.

It was hard for me to break the news to her. Wendy was her name by the way. She said it was okay. She said she had meet someone willing to do a rusty trombone and that she’d settle for that for now.

So that’s good. She’s met someone. That’s a happy ending.

Dating Stories: The Balloon Ladies

This guy said to me, “It must be great to be single. You can do whatever you want, with whoever you want.”

But that’s not true.

I wrote a letter to Natalie Portman outlining what I wanted to do with her, and she hasn’t replied.

She might be thinking about it.

The awkward thing is, I pretty much wrote the same letter to Scarlett Johansson, and if she writes back, and if Natalie Portman writes back, then I’m stuck, because I can’t afford to take both of them on a balloon ride.

Mum said, “Don’t worry about that. You’re no chance.”

I said, “I could be if I got a good job.”

She said, “No, not the balloon rides. Those two wont write back.”

What Mum doesn’t know is that I sent really nicely worded letters. So they might write back. Then again, they’re in relationships. So they might not. But that’s good. That’s good for them.

Secretly I hope one of them finds out about this, and they write back, just to let me know they got the message, because it’d be nice to get a reply. That’ll be a happy ending.

Dating Stories: The Dancing Lady

I was having a beer when this woman came up to me and said, “Do you want to dance?”

Then I realised I was in a Spanish bar, and a guy was playing Spanish guitar, and the empty space behind her was a dance floor.

I said, “I don’t know how.”

She said, “I can teach you,” and she reached for my hand.

I have sweaty hands so I didn’t take it, but I got up and said, “Ok, what do I do?”

She said, “Take my hips.”

So I did, and she started moving, and I staggered after her. She seemed happy. She was happy dancing and swaying.

Mum said it wouldn’t have been real happiness. Mum said, “Dancers fake-smile to make it look easy.”

I said, “She might have been thinking of me.”

Mum said, “No, she would have been thinking of Chris Hemsworth. Chris Hemsworths’s arms, Chris Hemsworth’s legs, Chris Hemsworth’s face. Mmmm. Chris Hemsworth.”

I said, “It’s a bit weird you’re imagining dancing with me while using Chris Hemsworth’s body parts.”

Mum said, “Don’t ruin Chris Hemsworth for me!”

After staggering for a bit we stopped.

My dance partner said, “You have to move to the music. Listen and just move.”

I said, “Okay,” and started to move.

She watched and said, “Is that the hokey-pokey?”

I said, “Yes. You can try it too.”

She smiled, not because of Chris Hemsworth, and started to hokey-pokey, but really well. I’m not good at the hokey-pokey but she was really good, and then this guy came over and took her by the waist, and she stopped hokey-pokeying and started dancing, proper dancing, and they did it really well. Which is good.

I picked-up my book and left.

They were having a good time. So that’s good. A happy ending.