The Dud And His Bud

The Dud And His Bud

Happy Friday Purgators!

This week we’re throwing it back to one of my most uncharacteristic dates. It all began one Friday evening, all my friends were busy (The Brunette was on a date, more details to come) and I was home alone suffering from major FOMO. I did what I always do when I’m bored at home, strike up the ol’ Tinder app. My main conversations were narrowed down to two guys, let me break down the stats here for you:

Guy #1:

  • 6’1″
  • Talk, dark skin and handsome
  • Oh and by the way, a professional athlete

Guy #2:

  • 6’1″ (or so I thought based on his photos)
  • 26 years old (or so he said in his profile, there was no way he was a day over 21)
  • “Professional” musician

Now if you were guessing I chose Guy #1, you would be sorely mistaken (I was too). Guy #1 offered me tickets to his game but unfortunately since all my friends were busy I had to decline — say hello to Guy #2.

After exchanging phone numbers with Guy #2 he informed me that his tour van (your heard correctly, van…not bus) was broken and they were stranded in my city for the next couple days. As someone who loves her city I couldn’t let this guys only impression be that of some random chicks basement so I offered to pick him up (totally out of character for me). I got in my car and drove halfway across the city to the address he provided. As I was waiting for him he text me and asked if his friend could join. How do you politely decline a question like that? Let me tell you, you can’t. So there we were, on my first threesome, and let me tell wasn’t memorable.

I drove us back downtown where I live and we walked over to one of my favourite local pubs. When we walked in the pub they insisted we sit at the bar instead of a table, which sucked for me because I’m hard of hearing (not diagnosed or anything) so I couldn’t make out anything anyone was saying. When my dates removed their jackets they proudly revealed their ultra-important backstage lanyards from their concert the night before #TotallyCool. The conversation throughout the night revolved solely around their “band” (almost as entertaining as watching paint dry) and which brand of alcohol was the cheapest (side note: we all went Dutch).

An hour into the “date” I went to the bathroom and called The Brunette. Meanwhile on the other side of town, The Brunette excused herself ever so politely from her dry date (literally) to answer the call. I explained what was going on and how awfully boring this date was — The Brunette’s response? “Just leave!” I am not one to simply just get up from a bad date and leave, there’s not enough Valium in the world to sedate me for that. After a little more coaching she had me convinced, I owe these guys nothing and if I’m not having a good time, go!

I boldly walked back to the bar and up to my dates. I fed them a lame excuse about having to D.D. my friend who was ready for me to pick him up. They seemed a little surprised that I was putting an end to things so early (which was surprising). I asked them if they were alright to get home and explained to them that I would not be driving them back home across the city but instead there were plenty of cabs that could drive them home. They reminded me they were broke and asked if taxi’s take credit cards and I responded with, “yes, all the best, goodbye!”and promptly left the pub.

Takeaway Message: When a professional athlete offers you tickets to his game never turn them down. Nothing is better than watching sweaty, hot guys play rugged sports with your girlfriends.


-The Blonde




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