So. Online dating. So. You think you can escape your awkward dates forever don’t you? Sure, you’ve only had a brief tinder and pint encounter, that excuses you to be a bit rude doesn’t it? Live by your own obnoxious rules, ya?

Sure I live in London, I’ll never see them again anyway, I can be a bit obnoxious, because I won’t ever see them again…..will I? Well, the answer I would have given before tonight was no. But I’m a little bit of a bitch, so I wanted the answer to be no.

I matched with this Irish guy on tinder a few months ago, had a few nights of chatting and sure he asked me out. Randomly, he lived within a miles radius of me. Random. Tinder users, unite and agree…..that never happens….that you encounter a good looking lad that lives near you. Ah surely he must be a mad lunatic rapist, serial killer or general gobshite if fate has led us this close. No, it was so much worse than that. So much worse. I would have taken a serial killer any day. This lad was mega-fucking, chew my nails off, eat my own hair, eat grass. Boring.

All this lad did was talk about Beckett and how he “wanted” to be an actor. To be fair I had a Beckett quote on my tinder, but I was only trying to be a bit cultured. I didn’t care what Beckett ate for breakfast when he visited London in 1964. I didn’t care what Beckett did in Paris. I didn’t fucking care if Beckett ate a bagel in Hammersmith. You are boring mate. You are fucking boring. Please. Just stop speaking.

And he didn’t care for GAA.

So, that is what I thought, the entire time, in our short “two pint” date, because I left after that, because I was “sooooooooo tired”.

I wasn’t tired, I was just too busy trying to figure out how I’d manage to eat my own eyeballs to stay any longer.

Once I got home, I made myself a cup of tea and contemplated how much his personality reflected a peice of cardboard I once encountered. As I sat there, drinking my tea, being absolutely astounded at how someone could get through life and be that incredibly dull, I received a text from him.

He told me how funny I was, (which I knew, and didn’t need a boring boris to tell me) and asked me on another date.

Being Irish and lovely, I didn’t want to be rude, so I said yes. Even though, I’d have rathered to go back to Ireland and gotten my mams 10 year strong bag of odd socks and spent the rest of my life dedicated to finding the pairs.

I then deleted him off tinder, blocked him off my iPhone, whatsapp and Facebook. (To be fair, what loser adds you on Facebook immediately after a first date anyway – desperate or what?)

Ya, shut up, I know I was being a massive non-confrontational bitch.

So. All that was fine. I just relayed the story of how boring this guy was to work mates and friends, always emphasising on how BOOORRRRRRINNNNNNGGGGG he was. And how I didn’t care that I was being rude, because it was London and sure I’d never meet him again anyway.

Until tonight.

So I was sitting on the train home from Peckham this evening. I was minding my own business, having some really nice personal James Murphy time to myself, and then David* walks up to me. (David being the really boring guy from this whole story btw). And I proceed to get burnt.

He asked me as to why I was so obnoxious and inconsiderate. He also asks me as to why I would disregard someone’s feelings so easily and be so rude and ignorant. He then went on to say that I was letting my country down. That this is not how Irish people treat each other.

I was flabbergasted. I didn’t know what to say. I simply sat there and said I was sorry for being a disgrace to my country and that I was ashamed to call myself Irish, as we are supposed to be caring, honest and open.

Then I cried.

LOL.

I did see the boring bastard, but he just stared at me, realised who I was and then I ran off. Sure he wouldn’t have said anything anyways, far too boring.

My version was better though, wasn’t it?

*i can’t remember his actual name, but I know it was boring.