A Close Encounter with the Toothless Kind

Dating after divorce is a massive adventure into the unknown.  Forget the New Horizons spacecraft venturing beyond Pluto and into the Kuiper Belt. Forget the anticipation of discovering a new form of life because I have beaten the spacecraft to it. My own adventure into dating websites led me to a new form of life hitherto only seen in nightmares and science fiction movies. The discovery of this actually existing in real life was a massive shock.

I had this vision you see, of dating a conglomerate super hero: Superman, Spiderman, Batman, Thor, Green Lantern, The Hulk, Captain America all rolled into one. Friends warned me that superheroes did not exist in real life. And they were right. What did I get instead? The Dribbler!!!

Prior to this, I had dated amoebas, various forms of bacteria and even a type of sentient plankton, so my hopes were not exactly at a high level for the next date. But I did expect a life form that I was familiar with and felt reasonably comfortable with, instead of a thing you wanted to kill at first sight then preserve it in aspic.

Let me lead you into the meeting with this creature gently, for it is not one that I would impose on anyone in a brutally direct way. Indeed, I myself, ventured into its terrible territory initially at a distance, via messages on one of the aforementioned dating sites, plus e-mails and texts. The creature’s cunning consisted of flattery and lies and like the newly divorced wimp that I was, all vulnerable and hungering for a few kind words, I soaked up all its compliments and totally believed the description of itself (himself) that it gave me. He did not go too overboard with his description of himself but did refer to himself as a James Bond look-alike – didn’t actually say which one but invited me to guess.  I guessed Daniel Craig and he said I was correct but that he was slightly more mature. Okay, I thought, a mature Daniel Craig didn’t sound at all a bad prospect. He also added that he was quite well-off.

We arranged to meet in a posh french restaurant close to my home as he said he wanted to ‘spoil me!’ Those words rang joyously in my ears. Spoil me? Oh my gosh how I’d longed to hear that phrase for a while now. Yes, yes, yes, he could spoil me rotten. Spoil me to infinity and back. Since my divorce, my meagre earnings had allowed only basic rations. Beans, rice, the occasional sausage, you know the kind of thing. Okay, so I’m exaggerating a bit, but yes I would let him spoil me with good food and wine until I became bloated and delirious with the joy of having a full tummy of gourmet delights and a bottle or two of Beaujolais.  He could then whisk me back to his palatial bachelor penthouse, heap compliments galore upon me, finally rounding off a wonderful evening by having his wicked way with me, or perhaps it might be more accurate to say that I would have my wicked way with him.

Of course, the reality was quite different.

I had gone into the restaurant and he was waiting just inside as we had arranged.  A mature Daniel Craig?  Well maybe if Daniel Craig had suddenly advanced into his late seventies, lost all his hair, grown several hairy moles on his chin and allowed his ears complete freedom to roam the entire expanse of his small shoulders, then yes most certainly. Those ears! Huge. Was he part elephant? However, I was hungry and not only prepared to overlook his age and all his physical faults, but also the  bestial coupling that had led to his birth –  after all, nobody is perfect.  

However the worst was yet to come.  We sat down and he smiled at me – constantly. I took a closer look. Shock, horror.  I had indeed come across a new life form – the one that existed in my worst nightmares. He had no teeth and I could see spittle running down the sides of his mouth in the creases, so aptly named as marionette lines. I froze. Time stood still. An awful realization came upon me as the sky outside the restaurant darkened, heralding an apocalyptic revelation. Diners looked out of the large windows in great fear as a convulsive trembling seized them.  Yet none of them were more scared than me, as the truth hit me about my date.

He. Was. A. Dribbler.  

I clutched at the cross around my neck and prayed inwardly not only to God but to all the deities I could think of. Meanwhile, oblivious to my terror, Derek continued to smile. Inside me I was thinking ‘Face your fears’ which repeated as an internal mantra – and then came ‘Indulge your appetite.’

The waiter came to us and Derek the Dribbler ordered for both of us.  Just as well, as I was unable to speak. When the food arrived it was all a bit retro, not that I minded that aspect but the sight of the Dribbler slurping up his prawn cocktail into the great black hole that posed as his mouth somewhat ruined my appetite.  I emptied my own prawn cocktail into my lap and tried to forget about it.

The main course came next, I regained my appetite a bit and tried to cut off from the sight opposite me.  Between his mouthfuls of steak and spit, Derek plied me with compliments and all was going reasonably well, until he dropped his napkin on the floor and bent to one side to pick it up. Well, he didn’t get up but I heard a muffled voice from near the floor say, “My back’s gone!”

Where had it gone?  To the Outer Hebrides if it had any sense and I felt inclined to join it. However, two burly waiters then came over and without preamble got him in some sort of headlock and armlock and wrenched him back into a seated position  They then disappeared back into the kitchen to fetch more orders.  I got the impression that Derek had been to the restaurant before and that this event was commonplace.

Once righted in his chair, Derek resumed eating. I could not help but notice he was dribbling even more than he had done during the previous two courses. No doubt the shock of putting his back out had triggered a salivary flow equal to that of a camel in a bad mood. I had been to Egypt - let me tell you those animals can really spit!

By now my appetite had disappeared again and the final course of Black Forest gateaux ended up in my lap again, joining the prawn cocktail in a new culinary creation that would have only appealed to a pig. I had a vague idea that I could somehow scoop it all up into my hands and run off into the toilet, explaining that the wine had set off my cystitis. But this was not to be.  

I was trying to plan my exit to the toilet and subsequent escape from the restaurant whilst listening to Derek droning on and kept waiting for a suitable pause. But it didn’t come. He seemed oblivious to my presence and the verbal torrent which ensued was just one long soliloquy, extolling his many ‘virtues’.   Boy, did he have a lot, or rather thought he had.

My lap was beginning to feel uncomfortable and squishy - and I envisioned the prawns coming back to life and seeking an escape route via a leg. Could I get to the toilet before this happened? Fate, however, had a worse scenario planned. Derek suddenly delved into one of his pockets, produced a ring and asked me to marry him. I stood up in complete shock and the contents of my lap flew in all directions.  I thought it rather surprising that prawns coated in gateaux were so aerodynamic. One of them flew into Derek’s mouth and he, uncomplainingly, chomped it with relish (tomato I think). I had to admire his laissez faire.

I gasped, “Excuse me, I must go the toilet urgently,” then ran off as I heard him sob, “That’s what my last date said yesterday and the one the day before.”

In the toilet, I found his previous two dates, scared to move. They both clung to me, perhaps thinking I was some kind of saviour. But I wasn’t. I thought, let ‘em fight their own battles. Roughly I pushed them off me, but feeling a bit sorry for them I gave them two prawns covered in cake which were still stuck to my lap, then I sneaked from the toilet and ran out of the nearest restaurant exit, hoping that Derek hadn’t see me leave.

I ran home, turned on my computer and found a new dating website, a reputable one.

It seemed they were aware of the new life form I had encountered. In large print at the bottom of its Home Page, it stated  – 'No Dribblers allowed on this site!' and then it told them to 'Go away' but in far less polite terms...