I have been putting off writing this post because the experience was so terrible and awful that it is difficult to relive. However, enough of my friends have found humor and entertainment in it that at this point it needs to be public.
Allow me to introduce the Worst Date of All Time with the Boris, the Smelly Slow Loris. To offset the horror of the date, here is a picture of a real Slow Loris to make you happy:
Boris the Loris emailed me first on OkCupid saying he wasn’t sure I was real, since I was very pretty but also my profile sort of sounded like it was written by a guy. Way to play into my aspirations to be the hot-one-of-the-guys-girls, Boris. Nice work. I was hooked – he didn’t look like he was unattractive, he said he was from Italy, and he listed himself as being somewhere above 6′ tall. What can I say, my standards aren’t hard to meet.
Boris the Loris and I agreed to meet last Wednesday outside a tube station near my office. I assumed he had somewhere specific he wanted to take me and figured he thought it was easier to meet at a clear central location. As I approached the tall, painfully skinny man lurking at the tube entrance, my stomach dropped. Boris the Loris was indeed very tall – maybe 6’4? – but also likely not surpassing too far into the triple digits of weight. As he said hello, it became clear that while his English was quite fluent over email, the speaking part was not so great. It was actually really hard to understand anything he said. He hugged me hello…and then proceeded to spend the entire evening attempting to be no more than 3 inches away from me. More on that later, though.
We headed around the corner to some bar where happy hour was still going for another hour, but there were no seats. I was already itching to leave, so I suggested we stand at the bar. Boris the Loris said he wasn’t really thirsty (what?) and suggested we take a walk instead. Now, we were in Leicester Square in London; this is comparable to Times Square or Columbus Circle in NYC. Not exactly a place for a leisurely walk. Walking itself also presented an issue for me. Boris the Loris insisted on touching my arm or back at all times. (This is a huge difference between American and EUropean mindsets that I’ve found – the Concept of Personal Space and the total lack thereof.) If I don’t know you, don’t fucking touch me. Seriously.
So, we were walking down some pedestrian zones and there are these barricade-type things that mark where the sidewalk is and where the no-car zone is (unclear why they distinguish, since there are no cars allowed). Anyway, Boris the Loris insisted on walking so close to me that to escape him, I would swerve around these barricades to gain some space and he would fucking walk into them!!! Dude, take a hint and BACK OFF. Here is an illustration of the types of barricades Boris the Loris insisted on walking into:
Right, so finally after walking into several of these poles and after I was squished into several walls as I tried to move away from the Loris, we reached the bar where we would spend the remainder of our date. As we sat down and each removed our jackets, a scent wafted through to my nostrils. It was foul, rotten…omg it was B.O. Not only could Boris the Loris not stop touching me, he also stank to high heaven. I kid you not, this was the worst B.O. I’ve smelled in Europe and I feel like given the stereotypes of hygiene, that’s saying a lot. So anyway, we stare at the happy hour menu for far too long given that there were three drinks listed and one was an actual shot of Oxygen (yes, the gas). We went to the bar to order and while standing way too close to me, Boris the Loris allowed me to order my mojito.
And then he allowed me to pay for it. STRIKE THREE ASSHOLE!!! You won’t stop touching me, you smell disgusting, and you don’t even buy me a drink? It was £3.50. COME ON. But wait, that’s not all.
Boris the Loris ordered a glass of orange juice.
Boris the Loris and I sat back down at our table, where I commenced chugging my mojito and he sat sipping his juice like a four-year-old. For an hour. I should have gotten up and left, but I’m too nice. Or too much of a wimp. Apparently I can only be a scathing bitch on this blog. I was painfully aware of our body language – he leaning so far forward I thought he may fall out of his chair, me shrinking so far into myself I was afraid my spine would collapse. He stretching his arms across the table, me leaning so far away from the table I hit my head on the bannister above me several times. It would have been comical had I not been so physically uncomfortable in every possible way and literally itching to leave.
I have no idea why I stayed, but after enduring Boris the Loris proclaim Family Guys’ hilarity and declaring it the best thing that came out of America (after I’d voiced my negative opinion of the show), I bolted up and announced I had to go. He walked me to the tube – at which point I realized I couldn’t even thank him for the drink since he didn’t buy it for me!
I am so scarred by this Worst Date in History that I have been watching Slow Loris videos on repeat. Here is one:
Enjoy. Next up here is some Big News and also a compilation of hilarious messages I’ve received on OkCupid.