Portia MacIntosh - Truth Or Date

Sally shuffles out from her office and hovers around the counter.

‘I can’t sit at that desk a second longer, the baby wants me to move. There’s just so much admin to do though.’

I am in the process of simultaneously toasting a panini and making an Americano for a customer, but I’m pretty sure she’s angling for Millsy to take over and give her a break.

‘Yeah, well, it’ll be out of you soon,’ Millsy replies, oblivious to her hint. ‘Why don’t you come for a post-night out vindaloo with us or get your Robert to give you a good seeing to – that brings ’em out, right?’

‘Is your topknot too tight or are you stupid?’ I ask him. ‘You can’t just “bring them out” when you feel like it. Remember that time we got in from Saturn at 4am and you were so hungry you took your burger out of the microwave when it still had half the time left? You spent the whole day at work throwing up.’

Millsy rubs his chin thoughtfully.

‘I remember having to call the plumber,’ Sally adds, a distant look in her eye, like a solider recalling a horrific war memory. ‘Pass me a lemon muffin, please. I’ll get back to work.’

Millsy laughs to himself as he obliges.

‘Wasn’t that also the night you pulled a teenager?’ he asks me.

‘You mean the night I kissed a student. And he was twenty – hardly makes me a cougar, does it?’

‘Yeah, but that dodgy beard made him look fifteen.’

‘He was in a nightclub, Millsy, so he had to be at least eighteen.’

‘You were in nightclubs when you were fifteen.’

He’s got me there.

‘Dude, you’ve got to stop going on about this.’

‘But it’s funny,’ he insists.

‘Well, I think the real reason you blocked the work toilet is funny, but I don’t tell people, do I?’

Millsy laughs, but his cheeks flush a little.

‘OK, we take these stories to our grave, deal?’

‘Deal.’

We bump fists, like we always do. It can be to seal a deal like today, to celebrate some sort of victory or even just to say hello.

Millsy begins the much-hated task of cleaning the panini press while I rearrange the pastries and cakes to make them look neater – an excuse, of course, to stealthily eat a brownie, because if it’s stealthy, it’s healthy. Everyone knows the calories don’t count if no one sees you eat it. Seizing my opportunity, I stuff a rather large chunk into my mouth just as a customer approaches the counter.

‘Ruby would/Ruby wouldn’t?’ Millsy asks under his breath as the man crosses the shop.

‘Oh shit,’ I whisper back. ‘Ruby nearly did!’

I watch Millsy’s face light up, like he might be about to witness something hilariously awkward. Little does he know, this is a fella I’ve told him about that I met via a dating app recently, and our final date was a nightmare.

‘Ruby,’ he says as he approaches the desk.

‘Michael,’ I reply. ‘Hello. What can I get you?’

I see a glimmer of recognition on Millsy’s face, he’s heard of Michael. His amusement quickly turns to anger.

‘Medium cappuccino and a slice of coffee cake, please.’

‘You want to be careful with all that caffeine,’ Millsy warns him. ‘You won’t be able to sleep at night.’

Michael laughs and turns his attention back to me.

‘So, you said you worked here, I thought I’d check it out. And here you are.’

‘Yep, here I am…’ …at my place of work, you creepy weirdo.

Michael seemed like the most charming man in the world, but after a whirlwind amazing three dates, at the end of the third date he ended up coming back to mine. As we started kissing and fell back onto the sofa, it quickly became apparent that Michael wasn’t very good at this stuff, but worse than that, he went from nought to Fifty Shades before he’d even got my clothes off me. The second I felt him giving me a love bite on my chest I did what any mature young woman would do: I smashed a vase by kicking it off the coffee table. Nick came running in and went mad – like I knew he would – so I told Michael it was probably best if he left. I mean, if that was his foreplay, the main event would’ve left me unable to sit. Once he was gone, I looked at myself in the mirror and I was covered in scratches and love bites. I looked like I had a disease. And, you know, each to their own and all that, I get it, people are kinkier now, but you don’t just go for it during your first time, and you don’t do anything that leaves a mark without permission. Probably – this has never happened before. Needless to say, I didn’t want to go on another date with him so I slowly stopped replying to his messages. I guess that’s why he’s turned up at my work a few months later.

‘Are you doing anything tonight?’ he asks.

‘Erm, yeah, I’m going out for dinner,’ I tell him honestly. I don’t mention that I have a date with another guy I met through the very same dating app.

‘Time for a quick drink after you finish here though, surely?’ he persists.

‘I don’t, sorry, I need to go home and make some adjustments to my new dress. Do you ever just look at a dress and think: that would look great, if only it were shorter?’

Michael immediately says no while Millsy says yes.

Millsy stops him before he can say anything else. ‘Take a seat, pal. I’ll bring your drink over.’

Michael thankfully senses that he’s not getting anywhere and goes to sit down.

‘That the prick who covered you in hickies?’ Millsy asks.

‘It is indeed – wouldn’t think it to look at him, would you?’

‘Want me to do something disgusting to his cake – I think the loo is free,’ he suggests, completely straight-faced.

I laugh and kiss my friend on the cheek. I assume he’s joking.

‘It’s fine. Looks like he’s got the message.’

I glance over at Michael, who is glumly looking at his phone. I can tell from his frantic hand actions that he’s doing the instantly recognisable left and right swiping people do on dating apps. Because that’s what you do, you swipe one away and move on to the next one.

‘Aww, doesn’t he look miserable,’ I say sarcastically.

‘Yeah,’ Millsy replies, rummaging around in his nose before plating up Michael’s cake. ‘Sucks to be him.’

Chapter 3

Getting ready for a first date requires as much mental preparation as it does physical prep work. Sure, it’s important to look and feel your best, and for that you’ve got to wash, shave, wax, pluck, dry and moisturise every last inch of your body before caking yourself in make-up, dousing yourself in perfume and slipping on something skimpy. Said skimpy outfit will be carefully selected, and you can guarantee it will be the first outfit you pick out – which would be great if you didn’t put it on, take it off, and then proceed to pull out everything else you own, trying various combinations of different outfits on before deciding you actually had it right with the first one. By which point, of course, you’ll be running late. So the whole time you’re whizzing around your room doing all of the above like a sparkly Tasmanian devil, you’ll be alternating talking yourself out of going with persuading yourself you absolutely should go, because you’re single and you have to give men a chance, lest you die alone – isn’t dating fun?!

The mental preparation is possibly even trickier than trying to wing your eyeliner without winding up looking like Amy Winehouse or searching for an outfit that makes your bum half the size it is – and mine is pretty big, so that’s quite the task. First of all, you need to constantly talk yourself into it. It will be at the forefront of your mind to cancel because you are gross, and boys don’t like you, and you’re incapable of sustaining a relationship with anyone other than your mobile network provider and the platonic ones you have with barmen all over town to get service quickly. You know none of these things are true (except the last one) but it’s easy to convince yourself that you can put it off today and meet the love of your life the next day week month…