I had arranged to meet last night's date outside Detroit, the Covent Garden bar he'd suggested. I arrived about 46 seconds early and saw a quite sweet little dog outside (with its owner). I went over to talk to it and then, noticing a vacant seat nearby, sat down. The dog ran over and got quite frisky with me. I tried to calm it down but it kept jumping up and then, at the precise moment my date arrived and stood opposite me, the dog burrowed itself underneath my maxi dress and jumped up and down in some sort of frenzy between my legs, trapped by navy jersey fabric. I was giggling hysterically, bright red of face, blonde hair fully awry, as Steve stood opposite me, smiling. It was quite a greeting.
Sadly, in spite of the fantastic material I'd already accrued for the Best Man's speech, the date never got any funner. It was an odd one. He was absolutely charming, interesting and interested. We had a lot in common and chatted easily, and he was kind, humble and thoughtful. Additionally, he was empirically attractive - tall enough, a gorgeous face, a good T-shirt and excellent trainers. But - and this is a totally new one on me - I just didn't fancy him. Not one part of me wanted to kiss him. When I say it's new, of course there have been boys I've not wanted to kiss before. Many hundreds of them. But not one with all those boxes ticked. It was extremely odd. I'm guessing he felt the same because when we parted ways at the oh-so-familiar Northern/Central Line split at the bottom of the escalators at Tottenham Court Road, he held out his arms straight, perpendicular to his body, fists loosely clenched, shoulders hunched, a big toothy grin on his face. As invitations to romantic, lingering kisses go, I'd give it a zero. I played my part in the quick hug, which was about as sensual as a burp, and headed home.
The one extraordinary thing about this guy was that - and I'm aware that the Faithful will immediately conclude that this is why I didn't fancy him but I SWEAR it wasn't - he doesn't drink. Of course, I assumed that he was AA, but he quickly explained that he just doesn't like booze. I was, it is fair to say, utterly gobsmacked. The guy has never once in his life been drunk. He tried to do it in his late teens, and got through half an alcopop before deciding he'd rather be drinking apple juice and gave up. Initially, I'll admit, I thought, 'Well, that's that then.' It is true that me going out with a teetotaller would be like Roseanne Barr going out with an anorexic. But as I talked to him a bit more about it, I knew it didn't have to be a dealbreaker. He just didn't drink. It didn't stop me drinking. That said, knowing I don't have to go out with someone who doesn't drink is a bit of a relief. I mean... No boring, poncey discussions about wine? No getting pissed together and behaving badly or having drunken rows? Every restaurant bill meaning an extra £15 for me while he gets away with juice? No shared hangovers? Hmmm. It's not how I imagined my future.
As far as I'm aware, I don't know anyone who doesn't drink out of choice. I know people who don't drink for religious reasons. I know people who don't drink because they are alcoholics. And I know people who don't drink because they don't like the effect booze has on them. But to have never got pissed, not even once? When everyone around him is drinking to excess and (seemingly) loving it enough to keep on doing it week after week? What kind of person resists that sort of unspoken peer pressure? What kind of person is so uncurious that they don't even try to see what everyone else is going on about? I mean, I've never tried heroin. But that's because it's heavily addictive, massively bad for you and illegal. I know I'd love it, and that's a slippery slope I'd like to avoid. Alcohol is addictive too - but psychologically rather than physically, and it's absolutely unhealthy in large quantities. But it's legal and the majority of adults in the Western world have, at one time or another, enjoyed its effects. And anyway, Steve didn't say he wasn't drinking because he was worried about the health impacts. He doesn't drink because he never has and it's been too long to take it up now. Plus he likes being able to drive everywhere.
I found it intriguing and, ultimately, a bit weird. If he'd tried it (and by 'it', I mean the effects of alcohol. Not just taking a sip of Hooch, but actually drinking enough to experience the buzz), and for some reason not liked it, then I could understand. But to have never tried it... That's a lonely path, surely? An odd path. If pretty much everyone you know is saying something is brilliant, and you don't even try to see what they're experiencing, isn't that weird? Respect is due, perhaps, but it won't come from me.
I really do swear that wasn't why I didn't fancy him though.
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