Tag Archives: blind date

Hair In Lies The Answer

My cousin and I have recently happened upon the answer to the problem of underage sex and drunken one-night-stands;


Or rather, we haven’t ‘happened upon’, we have devised, because we are extremely clever and should probably be running the country…. anyway, I digress.

The other day, my friend was going on a blind date (I had nothing to do with it!) and of course we discussed the yay’s and nay’s beforehand. “You are not to bonk him” I said, sternly. “I wont!” she squealed, then followed with “anyway, I can’t, I haven’t shaved my fanny”. Ok, well she didn’t say fanny, but I love that word so like to use it wherever possible. Furthermore, she had a full leg and bikini wax booked in for Monday, the date was the Saturday prior to that and no way was she going to ruin her carefully cultivated hair and waxing calendar for a blind date.

And that, dear boys, is the Gods-Honest truth as to why sometimes you get laid and sometimes you don’t.

It all depends on hair.

It doesn’t matter how much of a slapper you are (I don’t mean this in a derogatory way, I love a proper slapper), or how utterly rampant you are feeling, if the hair is past it’s best and the minge is not ship, shape and shiny, we’re not playing ball/s. January to the end of March are probably the worst, Crimbo parties are over and spring is far away so we grow our little furry selves under woolly tights and skinny jeans, safe in the knowledge that no-one is going to see them. Unless we’re on a promise 😉

There have been occasions when ladies have been a little inebriated and they’re too drunk to care about contraception, periods, husbands or otherwise and think ‘fuck-it’ I need a shag; alarm bells do not ring about consequences but let me assure you that if those bloody legs are hairy, if the pubes have reached the knees, there is no way those knickers are going down, no way Jose.

We know that when you males are drunk, a big, hairy minge, the odd stray hair wont bother you, but we don’t want you telling your friends, ala Liam Gallagher; “she’s got a hairy asshole”. It’s not nice to be sniggered at in the pub. Nor do we want what happened to one girl I knew, who was in the ‘stubble stage’ of growing back her mary, when the ‘gentleman’ told everyone “she had a muff like a brillo pad” and was thereafter known as ‘Rough Muff’ by literally everybody in town.

And all teenagers think that women don’t even have pubes nowadays, let alone hairy legs or pits, thanks to the porn available on the internet. Imagine, God forbid, what happens when they start developing it? The hair is probably met with absolute hysterics and prompts desperate bids on Groupon vouchers for laser treatment, painful attempts with home-waxing kits (never, ever attempt to wax your own bikini line, it will result in tears, ruined underwear and a fanny that looks like it has alopecia) and stealing their dads 52 blade Gillette razor which does a marvellous job but he wont thank them for it. This is a shame, because I remember the excitement of growing my first pube, God, I was thrilled! My best friend had one giant hair that was magnificent, we were so proud of it. All that is lost nowadays, ah, nostalgia.

So we propose that all hair removal products should be banned from being sold to under 16’s. And no waxing them either.

And ladies, if you know you’re a bit of a goer and cannot trust yourself on a Saturday night, just leave the hair removal for another day!


Dear St Valentine, “Ride Me, Bitch!”

For many years I have been under the illusion that I am (in my own words) an “excellent” matcher-upper of people. Today, I have had the illusion shattered and my days of setting people up are now over. My friend kindly but firmly pointed out my successive failures in the match-making industry.  

The thing is, I don’t know the etiquette of match-making. Where does my role stop exactly? At what point do I issue a disclaimer? What exactly can I be held responsible for? Because as far as I’m concerned, I think my part is connecting the two people, end of role. This is not so apparently. I have found myself organising peoples diaries, suggesting suitable restaurants, arranging the meeting places, giving directions, exchanging phone numbers, issuing instructions, confidence building, assisting in facebook stalking, reassuring, cajoling and chasing people up. This is followed by; checking during the date that no-one has been murdered and nothing untoward has happened, providing a get-out option if the date is not going well and ensuring the datees have made it home safely. I then listen to a blow-by-blow account of the date and find myself apologising for the behaviour of one party or the other, (one particular time I even apologised to the parents of the ‘injured’ party), giving out advice on emergency contraception, making appointments at local STI clinics and somehow ending up wholly responsible for the sorry mess that it inevitably turns out to be!

I mean, how heavily do I need to ‘vet’ these people? I am shallow and tend to find people either attractive or not attractive, and feel that is a good basis for starters. Does it really need to be any heavier than this? Apparently so. I think what gets my goat the most is the sheer amount of dishonesty, on the male part. They are a bunch of toads and quite frankly, NONE of them deserve any time with my gorgeous girls, damn all the boys to hell!

Boys are/ were one of my most favourite things but the more of them I meet, the less I seem to like them. Lets take a look at my track record, with sincere apologies to those unfortunate victims along the way. (Note* some names and identities have been changed in order that dignity may be maintained).

The most recent disaster was with Marcus*, a man I met once, at a party in January and my dear friend Amelia*. In hindsight, I think perhaps it wasn’t ideal, after a few cheeky tequilas, to judge someone as ‘awesome’, so maybe I was viewing him through beer goggles rose-tinted-glasses. The upshot was, the shy psychoanalyst from a little village overlooking the ‘green’ turned out to be a health & safety officer from high-rise flats in Bumstoke and the only grass in his view is at the end of the dual carriageway on a roundabout. He went on to confess that due to low self-esteem about his small penis, he suffered from erectile dysfunction (can’t get it up, in other words). He could have mentioned this before the date ffs. I have since heard he had been on no less than FOUR dates with different women last week (did they all get told about his tiny, flacid cock? Is it part if his ‘seduction’ routine?). So much for his shy-guy persona, he is a chancer and a cad. What utterly disgraceful manners.

I set up an incredibly beautiful girl with a cute friend of my boyfriends. The first date went well, they were discussing a second, then she turned in to a total bunny-boiler; I was held responsible for the saga, which continued for several weeks with parents and various business associates becoming involved.

I arranged a date between a male friend of mine (who said he was ‘desperate’) and a lovely work colleague. He viewed her via facebook, gave the go-ahead and they met. The date lasted ten minutes, when my friend told her the picture he viewed of her on facebook, was one where she was in a group of three girls, and he “thought she was the other one”.

There are of course some girls who absolutely refuse to listen to my worldly advice when it would be wise to do so. Keith*, a bit of charmer, has urinated on no less than 4 of my friends. Each one of them was warned beforehand that he isn’t ‘house-trained’, none of them believed someone could be that disgusting. He is.

I set up my friend Diana* with a guy I knew called Adam. I assured Diana that Adam was not a ‘pig-dog’ and that although he was quiet, he had good manners and would be the perfect gentleman. The night came, they met, they went out, they went to bed together. Diana called me the next day, outraged that during the hanky-panky, Adam had slapped her hard on the bottom and shouted “ride me, bitch!”. At no point during the setting up of this arrangement did I suspect he might be capable of this sort of behaviour.

Conclusion: you can never tell!