Without advocating alcohol and going out every night with aunty vodka, let's be honest:a man who orders a green tea (or a mango juice) at 9 p.m. doesn't bode well, or even it gets off to a bad start. When we shoot Chardonnay, super relaxed from the cap and start doing political impersonations (“Hey look! Raffarin!”), he calmly sips his third Perrier puck. Our super brain does one trick and we imagine Sudoku evenings and an upcoming date in front of an animal documentary.
A priori harmless, they are above all revealing of the character:"My mother was a housewife and I really would not have been as well educated if I had had a mother who worked" (Wake up Charles Ingalls, we also lead careers pro now)/ "If you get dumped every time you must be in trouble!" (good laugh)". Have fun Pepito. But the sentence is irrevocable and in 35 seconds you are archived. You may tick faster than lightning, but you still don't have to push. Well, the advantage of the flop 2 is that it still saves us time, we quickly see who we are dealing with.
Formerly (Saturday evening), he sent heavy with his The Kooples look. Tonight he preferred the white lycra t-shirt with exposed nipples or the bermuda-flip-flop combo (July date). We didn't understand anything. He's the locker room schizophrenic. And even if we repeat the chorus of the appearance that is not everything, etc., etc., it blocks. Because we are not going to lie to each other, the look is what we notice from the first glance and it remains essential. If it's to shape it in our image by dragging it to our favorite stores in 3 weeks, thank you but no thank you...
We were not born yesterday, we know that dating sites are risky. We know that in real life he can listen to George Moustaki and have the lawn of a golf course on his chest. But sometimes it's downright cold shower. He forgot to say that he was 1m60, that he shot more Gérard Jugnot than Bruce Willis and that his sexy haircut was 5 years ago. And there is no after-sales service, so we find ourselves chomping at the bit until 10:30 p.m. (if we work the next day, that's a good excuse) (skip the cheese if you're at the restaurant) .
We go there all perky, the flower in the gun because it is a delight to discover and seduce the target met at Martine's 30th birthday. But when finally Pepito talks with himself for 2 hours, it's average. Impossible to cut it, he slaloms between his summer vacation in the Gorges du Verdon (with his 25 photos) and his real estate purchase projects. If we have to take out a flashing sign for him to ask us how we are doing, that promises for the future. And if we are bored like rats, he will have the sex appeal of Vincent Cassel, he will return (all alone) to his house.
Muahaha! A bunny first date? Only in the movies! Teu teu teu, nay. There are still diehards and some can boast of having managed to maintain their dignity in public (before cursing him on his answering machine). In front of the meeting point, there's no need to worry about finding a plausible explanation (his grandmother died and in the panic he didn't call/he was carjacked) or less plausible (he kidnapped by Inuit rebels). Better to gently turn around and call our friend Martine for a debrief aperitif, just to play down the drama.
That smells (really really) scorched. Frankly, who would want Hansaplast to heal their gaping wound? Nothing better to end up at the bottom of the hole in 2 months with - 1000 estimated level. We aspire to better and we are done committing to the wrong business. So better invoke a hitch, a work email, or worse! A family drama to escape the traknard man that we will end up convincing to go back with his ex.
