Truth Or Date. Portia MacIntosh

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…

      It’s nice to know as much as possible about who you’re dealing with, and Facebook is great for that, but I’m yet to friend the guy I’m meeting tonight and he’s got his privacy settings spot on, which sucks for me stalking him. I did have a quick flick through his profile pictures, careful not to knock ‘like’ on any from six years ago like I did with someone once before – nothing says cray-cray like ‘liking’ an old photo. After flicking through this guy’s photos, I’ve got to say, he’s so far out of my league, we’re playing different sports. There’s only one thing for it: control tights. The illusion of a flat stomach might level the playing field, at least a little.

      I lie back on my bed and begin gently rolling the tights up my legs one at a time, careful not to ladder them because this is my only pair. It’s a new pair, and as such, the tights are super tight. I sometimes struggle to keep them up high enough at the back, causing them to roll down and give me this weird back podge that I could have an anxiety attack about if I thought too much about it…no, I don’t have a fat back, it’s just the way control tights kind of round everything up, and God forbid my date puts his hand on my back and figures out where my control tights are hiding my stomach. The solution to this problem that many people probably weren’t even aware was even a thing, is to tuck my tights into my bra, but that’s really difficult to do on your own. Luckily, I have a solution to this problem too.

      ‘Nick,’ I call out at the top of my voice.

      ‘What, what’s wrong?’ he asks, bursting through my bedroom door. He’s wearing an apron, causing me to giggle at him. Then again, I probably don’t look so cool right now either.

      ‘Shit, Ruby, I thought maybe one of your online dating weirdos was hacking you up in here.’

      ‘You wish,’ I reply.

      ‘You want me to pull your tights up again, don’t you?’

      ‘What are roommates for?’ I say with a sweet smile.

      Nick shakes his head as he walks over to me, knowing that sometimes the easiest option is to just humour me.

      ‘You know, I struggle to recall a single thing you’ve ever done for me,’ he starts as he yanks up my tights, wrestling them under my bra at the back.

      ‘Erm, I helped you glue that vase Heather made you back together,’ I remind him.

      ‘Yeah, because you smashed it having sex on the sofa.’

      ‘I wasn’t having sex – foreplay, if that.’

      ‘Too