‘On the bright side,’ he continues, adjusting his trousers, ‘the next date will be our fifth. When are you free?’
Keen!
‘Saturday. Grace will be at her dad’s again.’
‘Great, come over to mine. I can’t cook like you can, but I’m a master at ordering takeaway.’
I start to laugh. I can’t help myself.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘Nothing. Nothing at all. Saturday sounds great.’
He takes my hand. ‘You know, you never answered my question the other day. Am I your boyfriend?’
Awkward. I feel like I’m in an episode of Saved by the Bell. I lean in and kiss him deeply, which is technically against the rules, but I’m stalling while I think of a suitable answer. Am I even allowed to answer that question? Isn’t it too soon to be talking about boyfriends anyway? Eventually I reply, ‘Does that answer your question?’
‘It does. I’ll see you on Saturday.’
After I show Tom out, I text Dylan.
Dinner was a success. Fifth date on Saturday. Looks like you were right. Not about everything but I’m starting to get it now x
I wait for a reply that never comes.
The Lowdown magazine – Saturday 15 November 2014
Glasgow Girl’s home is no longer a man-free zone
I was expecting something different for my fourth date with Mr X. A movie perhaps? An art gallery? Maybe the opera? Possibly a dirty weekend where we use baby oil, owl masks and a safe word, I’m not sure. What I wasn’t expecting was to have him over for dinner at my place, but that is exactly what happened.
The first hurdle was feeding him. According to my daughter, my culinary skills are limited to processed meat shaped like animals and the opening of tins, but I was assured by someone who is very familiar with The Rules of Engagement that anything less than a meal home-cooked from scratch would be a disaster: a real man knows home-made from store-bought. So I did what any self-respecting killer of cuisine would do – I got someone else to make it for me.
Next I cleaned my flat, getting rid of anything that would give the impression I’m a normal, messy human being. The book says: At some point he might think about living with you, so it’s best to throw away anything that might make him reconsider.
Of course I felt sad about having to get rid of both my home-made wedding altar AND all of my friends, but I chose to follow these rules so I guess I can’t complain.
The food went down well, and in general the date was going smoothly until he suggested we have sex. All readers of The Rules of Engagement will know that sex ist completely verboten before the fifth date. It wasn’t easy, but I managed to decline and, like the gentleman he is, Mr X respected my decision. In hindsight, I think the only reason he was so cool about it is that our next date will be our fifth; otherwise I fear I might have witnessed a grown man begging.
The author states at the beginning of the book that if you follow his rules you’ll be in control of your own dating life, and I didn’t really believe him . . . until now. Mr X might have decided what we were doing on our date, but I was the one calling the shots in all other respects. I guess, on reflection, the only thing missing for me was the excitement of wondering what will happen next. Following the rules means there can’t ever really be a thrill of the unknown – the where and how of everything is already prescribed.
The fifth date will take place at his house tonight (he’s buying me a takeaway, ahem), and if you think I’m going to kiss and tell, you’re absolutely right.
It’s showtime, baby.
Chapter Fifteen
Rule 6 – Don’t Sleep with Him Straight Away.
Sex isn’t the gateway to happiness or the filler for your emotional void; it’s just sex.
Condescending nonsense. I throw down the book and pick up my phone:
Dylan: every woman already knows that the gateway to happiness is not sex but killer heels that don’t cripple your feet. Look, I know you’re either dead or ignoring me, but I thought I’d let you know that next week will be my last column following your rules. So we’ll both be off the hook. I think I’m officially dating Tom now, so much as it pains me to say this – it worked.
I press Send on no doubt my fifth unanswered text to Dylan, place my phone under my pillow and roll over in bed. It’s half past eight on Saturday morning, and for once Grace is still asleep but I’m wide awake. I listen to the heavy rain battering off my bedroom window like a million angry fists and try to ignore the feeling that is gnawing away in the pit of my stomach. I’m not sure whether it’s hunger, or nerves about this evening, or even annoyance that Dylan seems to have cut me off with no explanation. Whatever it is, I don’t like it. In some weird way, I do sort of miss him.
The rain doesn’t let up all day so Grace and I spend the afternoon playing board games and eating toast and cheese with pickle before she has leave for Peter’s house. I can tell she’s thrilled to spend so much time with me and I feel the same. Everything has become so hectic lately, it’s nice to just sit quietly with her and remember how delightfully simple things can be.
