So, I went on a date last night. First time in a while! I had a feeling it was going to be an awkward one when I rocked up at the bar he’d picked, only to find that there were no craft beers on tap. Now, I get that this sounds really snobby on my part. But you have to understand that he’d billed himself on the dating app as a lover of craft beer. Disappointing!
The next weird thing was his making a pointed remark about my hairy legs, which evidently weren’t his cup of tea. I’d probably be able to disregard this if it wasn’t for the fact that the guy himself was sporting a remarkably furry neck. If either one of us ought to be engaging in hair removal, it’s clearly him.
I wasn’t about to suggest that he look into laser hair removal; in Melbourne, though, this is not that uncommon for men, and I think I would have been within my rights to suggest it after what he said about me. Personally, I’ve tried it all, from waxing treatments to electrolysis, and it can be fun from time to time. I don’t have anything against it. I just think that if a guy is going to expect me to get into all that, he should be up for it himself.
Well, maybe he noticed my expression, because he hurriedly went on to mention that he’d looked into getting some kind of high-tech anti aging treatment. Melbourne being the fashion-forward place that it is, there are various treatments that he could have been referring to, and I won’t deny that I’ve considered some of them myself. The guy confided this, though, like it was something really remarkable on account of his being a man.
Maybe I’ll call him and ask him out for an oxygen facial or something – see how he fares when it comes to actually going through with cosmetic treatment of this nature. Then he can buy me a pint of craft IPA.