I’ve done a lot of weird stuff on second dates – some of it even involving large quantities of lubricant and the farthest darkest reaches of my imagination.
But my latest second date was unusual in a very different way – she really took the biscuit.
In fact she really did take the biscuit – literally.
It was one of those cinnamon and sugar ones they serve for free with a coffee in certain stylish joint, and she snatched it from my coffee cup in her chubby little fist.
It’s alright babe
Okay to be fair I’m not talking about my actual date, whose elegant fist is far from chubby.
I’m talking about her ten-month-old daughter. But of course they come as a package.
It’s not like this came as a complete surprise – while we were chatting she warned me about the rugrat but also told me she had a nanny. It turns out the nanny doesn’t work 24-hour shifts.
People who know me would probably expect me to be one of the last people on earth who would end up carrying a small baby around as part of a date.
I’m the person who last blogged about how virtual BDSM had improved my lockdown FFS!
But carrying around a baby is exactly what I ended up doing.
More surprisingly I actually enjoyed it.
Before the bells of romance start ringing too loud, let’s say I wasn’t completely happy with the circumstances that led to this state of affairs.
Baby blues
About an hour into that second date I was handed a soft, chubby, slightly tearful package, smelling of lemon cologne and asked if I could hold on to her.
After a few minutes blind panic on behalf of both of us, said package then fell asleep on my shoulder.
Her gummy little jaws clamped on my linen shirt, where she left a little damp patch of baby spit.
A little while later while we were having a beer the baby herself woke up and gave me some adorable smiles.
Then a little bit later she threw up on the front of my shirt – really it was more of a burp with a follow through than a heaving spew.
And even though it was my favorite shirt I didn’t really mind. Somehow baby spew is much less offensive than that which a drunken date might discharge across one’s shirt in a taxi ride home (not there have been many of these lately in our extended semi-lockdown existence).
So to sum up so far… you can probably see I’m somewhat smitten by the baby.
But I’m not so sure about its mother.
Shit happens
For one thing there was the fact my date told me she had had the baby after a condom broke while having sex with a one-night stand.
At first I completely accepted her story.
She said she had gone ahead and done the noble thing as she couldn’t bear to have an abortion. Looking at the sparkling-eyed bald-headed butterball who was wrapped in a blanket who could disagree?
Later though, I began to think about it in a slightly more critical light. It seemed like pretty bad luck, and of course shit happens.
The thing is, it happens to some people more than others.
And… despite her high-flying career as a scientist, she was starting to seem like she might be one of those types this kind of thing happened to as a matter of course.
It wasn’t just the baby, it was the arguments she was getting into and the work problems.
A change of plan
Then were the circumstances of why she had brought along the baby on the date in the first place.
The plan was I was supposed to go round to her flat, leave my car, and we would go out for a cool, romantic night, leaving the baby with the nanny.
When I arrived, my date, who has strong views on everything, decided that it was too hot to go out and that she had to go to the supermarket first.
We’d go out for a walk and take the baby, she said, as the nanny had to take some item of clothing back to a shop and it would take too long if she took the baby.
It was one of those weirdly long and complex justifications which don’t stand up to much scrutiny.
I was surprised that she had unilaterally changed plans like this but I figured that it would just be a quick half hour outside.
I hadn’t betted that the nearest supermarket was about 35 minutes walk away at baby strolling pace.
The Crying Game
Nor had I betted that the baby would cry if she was left in her stroller – hence why she ended up in my arms.
This wasn’t just one of those shopping trips where you pick up a carton of milk and some bread. It was a huge, overflowing trolley-style shop for the week.
In other words it didn’t look like my date had just made a small oversight and corrected it with a spontaneous supermarket visit.
It looked like it was planned.
And as we had a beer she smiled luxuriously and told me I had passed her test – passed it in fact with glowing colours.
It’s really hard to find men that could get on with with the baby like this, she said.
Testing times
A sensible person might have run away at this point, having realised that being put to such a test in a second date is not a great start for a relationship.
Yes I might have passed her test but she should surely have failed my test.
Of course that is not what I did.
Let’s just say that four weeks later I’m still with this person. The chemistry and the sex are amazing but the alarm bells are ringing.
Despite being a mum, she parties pretty hard, possibly too hard for me. She also has two extremely needy dogs. Normally I steer clear of anyone who has a dog under labrador size.
The baby is every bit as lovely and my date every bit as problematic as both were in this second date.
So watch this space.
PS read the next crazy installment of what happened with this date in this post.
By Max
