The second time wasn’t nothing. It was a very big something. I guess this part is going to be a sample of my excessively unsuccessful (I hate this word) “love life”.
To give you all some backstory, I had been- I don’t even know how to describe it- talking (?) to this boy called… let’s say his name was Dick (Apologies to anyone out there called Richard). Anyway, me and Dick were practically a couple, just without the label. At that stage, we had been texting each other for almost 3 years every day and I assumed it was pretty much safe to say we were going to go to the debs together. I thought I could let my rising panic settle, and begin to stop searching for potential “suitors”. So you can imagine my surprise when Dick texted me a huge apology explaining that he was now going with his long- time friend instead of me. Dick, being the idiot that he was- is, then proceeded to tell his new date he couldn’t go with her, and came crawling back to yours truly. And after telling him I couldn’t go to his (I was starting college that day), Dick then took several days before telling me he couldn’t go to mine either, leaving me dateless and completely and utterly stranded.
I really have taken the time to try and put the following into words, however, trying to express myself whilst censoring my language I soon found to be impossible so, I apologise in advance for this – Dick, you’re a fucking idiot.
My previous pool of dates had not just shrunk, but evaporated, leaving me with my subsequent emotion- Panic.
Complete and utter panic proceeded after that. Not quite at first, I still had other options but time was ticking and there were few girls I knew to not have a date already (make that none- I’m trying to make myself sound less sad than I actually was). Seeing at that stage there was no other option, I had to ask an old friend. Now when I say old, I mean we hadn’t really spoken up until that point. And no I don’t mean a few weeks had passed, or months… try years… or five. Yes, it had been five years since I had spoken to this friend, so you can imagine my reluctance (try complete and utter dread) to ask him to be my date. And seeing as I live in Ireland, the phenomenon of “prom-posals” had not quite reached Ireland- and probably never will, which is why my invitation took place over text.
After an agonising 20 minutes, my so- called “irrational” dread and fear was justified with an equally as humiliating rejection. Although sweet, and kind, I still died a bit inside as I welcomed my new emotion.
Despair. That was the emotion experienced upon the realisation that my date would be a total stranger. So again, I turned to my friends, in good old “Sex in the City” fashion, for the blind to lead the blind. And that’s exactly what… Megan did when she found a sort of mutual friend still somehow dateless which quickly fell through in a matter of days after hearing he was going with someone else after thinking his friend who asked was joking. That’s what I felt like at that stage- a joke, although I was in no mood for doing so being completely fed up. It was so embarrassing and what I felt to be an irrational stressful waste of time.
By the time a friend, of a friend, contacted me, I eventually ended up being asked to my own debs in such a way that although I wanted to say no -I couldn’t, because it would have been rude, because I would have felt bad, and because- I really had no other option.
With a month to go, no dress, shoes, nothing, which every other girl I knew had been planning for months, my date truly was a stranger. I thought seeing him before hand would be a nice ice breaker, but seeming so utterly unapproachable and both of us doing feeling completely forced, there just never seemed to be time. With the most him knowing about me being the colour of my dress, I spent the weeks before that night over analysing every detail and mentally preparing for the blackhole that was yet to come. And dreading every future minute.