Dating Disasters of Emma Nash Read online

  When I came out of the loos, Leon was waiting outside. My whole body flooded with adrenaline, which, for some unknown reason, prompted me to speak to him.

  “Lurking in the shadows outside girls’ loos is generally considered a bit creepy,” I said jokily.

  “I’m waiting for Anna,” he said, without an expression. Maybe it’s contagious. She has some weird disease where all her facial muscles become like hanging bits of flab and she’s given it to him.

  “OK...” I said, and started to walk away.

  “I didn’t know you were friends with Laurence,” he called after me, stonily.

  “I didn’t know you were friends with Laurence.”

  “I used to sit with him in Maths.”

  “Oh. Did he help you?”

  “Oh, piss off, Emma.”

  He said it with such force, and I was so taken aback that I felt like I’d been shoved backwards into the wall. The only person who has ever told me to “piss off” in such an ugly way is my mother.

  He stared at me all defiant and scowly, and I stood there looking back at him like a jellyfish with my mouth open. Then Apple came out of the loo and we all continued to stand there for a bit. She looked at us both and, I swear, almost managed an expression (one of confused awkwardness).

  Then I quickly moved away.

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 3:32 P.M.

  Moping in Maths

  I was hiding my phone under the desk but then I remembered it’s Mr. Crispin... Ah Maths. My free blogging pass.

  So I told Steph all about what happened and she gave me a Chewit. After I ate it, I threw the wrapper away and she said, “What? You’re not going to save it and roll it up in a ball with my hair and spit and keep it under your bed? I’m offended.”

  “I never kept his hair. Or spit.”

  “No, just his bloody Band-Aid. Anyway, at least you’ve got Gracie’s brother’s party to look forward to tomorrow...”

  I grunted. Then Mr. Crispin asked me a question about “cumulative frequency” and I just whimpered.

  “Is that all you do now? Whimper and grunt?” asked Steph.

  I grunted in response. She grunted back.

  “It was like...he hated me.”

  Steph bobbed her head in sympathy. “I’ve run out of Chewits.”

  “It’s OK. I’m too miserable to eat.”

  “Or maybe you’re too full because you ate the whole pack.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Do you think we’d still be friends if we were guys?” asked Steph.

  “No, you’d punch me.”

  There was silence as we both visualized it.

  “Yeah, I probably would.”

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 3:50 P.M.

  Crazy Holly asked to plait my hair (she just loves to plait hair). I must be feeling pretty low because a) I let her and b) I enjoyed it.

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 5:16 P.M.

  At Home

  “Mum...?” I say carefully.

  “What? What is it now?” she spits.

  How nice.

  “Are you still dating the stripper? I mean, again?”

  “Yes, I am dating Olly again and please call him Olly.”

  “How’s it going?”

  “Yesterday it was great. Today not so much. Ask me again tomorrow.”

  “OK.”

  Silence.

  “It can’t be any worse than that guy who asked you what older birds had to offer over younger ones.”

  “No, it can’t. Thanks for reminding me.”

  “Any time.”

  Silence.

  “So, Mum, what do older birds have to offer over younger ones?”

  “Stop it.”

  Evidence: When using the internet to meet people, one must learn to ignore half the stupid crap people feel more free to say than they would to your face.

  “Oh, also, can we come to salsa with you tonight?”

  She laughs.

  “No, I actually mean it.”

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 7:57 P.M.

  At salsa. It’s the break and Steph and Mum are queuing for the loos. I’m trying to at least pretend like I’m having fun, because I’ve been so crap over the past couple of months and Steph and Mum seem to be having a freakishly good time. But I will never be doing this again. Ever.

  Why You Should Never, Ever Go to Salsa with Your Mum

  You stand in lines, with men on one side and women on the other, and go round in a rotation. There aren’t enough men and so half the time you have to put your arms up and pretend to dance with an invisible person.

  The rotation also means you have no control over who you dance with. You have to dance with everyone. There’s one really smelly man and I had to hold my breath for the whole minute that we were partnered. There’s this other man who trod on me A LOT (definitely his fault) and then when the music stopped said pityingly, “Don’t worry, it’s your first time.” And another man who put his face way too close and got really into wiggling his hips against mine but didn’t move in any way that resembled the actual steps.

  You are prey to watchful women who have come with the aforementioned men. There’s this one extremely hostile lady who keeps looking over with narrowed eyes at whoever is dancing with her fiancé. I wish she knew how truly, deeply I’d rather not be dancing with him.

  You realize that you are so terrible at dancing, even your mum is better than you.Oh joy. The break is almost over and it’s my turn to dance with the smelly man again.

  Add another reason to the list:

  You might come face-to-face with your mum’s strange taste in men.

  * * *

  Back home now, thank God, but after class me, Mum and Steph sat down.

  “Are you looking forward to Gracie’s brother’s party?” Mum asked.

  “I’m looking forward to having her stop talking about it,” I replied.

  “OK, so don’t look now,” Mum muttered, “but my ex-boyfriend was in the class.”

  I thought back through the less than desirable bunch of men we had just danced with.

  “Which one?”

  “The dark-haired, dark-skinned one.”

  “The wiggly one?”

  “Yes, him.”

  “Oh God, Mum... Why?”

  “What?! He’s a good-looking man.”

  “If you can see past the creepiness.”

  “Well, for me it was more seeing past the good looks.”

  “Did you meet him here?” Steph asked.

  “Yes.” Mum sighs. “This was a long time ago. Before I’d even tried internet dating or anything like that.”

  Evidence: Most people use the internet merely to repeat the mistakes they make in the real world.

  SATURDAY, 13 SEPTEMBER

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 11:01 A.M.

  The Day of “the Big Party”

  Gracie has already rung twice asking me about what to do with her hair. My answer both times was, “I don’t know” i.e. “I don’t care, you have a mind of your own.”

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 12:04 P.M.

  “What about my flower clip?”

  (What flower clip?)

  “Yes, definitely.”

  It’s going to be a long day...

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 5:29 P.M.

  At Gracie’s House

  Getting ready. It’s just me, Steph and Gracie. Faith said she couldn’t come because she “didn’t want to blow off her family friends.” (I definitely think there is a line between being nice, and too nice.) We are all crammed in front of one mirror. Gracie keeps elbowing me in the face. She’s so eager for tonight.

  “And Andy’s friend Jonno is so good-looking...”

  “Is he the one with the really small head?” I say.


  Gracie’s lips tighten and she goes all pink. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “I think he is.”

  “I don’t know who you mean, but it’s not him.”

  “Yeah yeah! It is!” says Steph, laughing.

  Gracie is incredibly pink by now.

  “None of my brother’s friends have a small head.”

  “None of them? Does he have some sort of head-size screening process?”

  “They’re all really attractive.”

  “So now you can’t be attractive unless you have a large head?” says Steph.

  “Just don’t make fun of my brother’s friends, OK?” she snaps.

  “Why? They’re not your friends.”

  That did it. She slammed out of the room. Then came back in for her lipstick and left again.

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 5:44 P.M.

  It’s so nice being able to do my makeup without being elbowed.

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 6:26 P.M.

  Eventually, Gracie came back into the room, but she left again when she realized Steph and I were talking about periods.

  “Guys!! Ew!” she exclaimed, like she doesn’t have them or something.

  Anyway, apparently Steph’s sister, Jess, was kissing a boy at uni, and he tried to go further but she told him she was on. His response was something along the lines of “gross” and “too much information.” This makes me angry for several reasons.

  The Period Taboo

  First of all, it’s not like we can help it. It happens. That fact is unfortunately unchangeable (and I think I speak for all women when I say, we really wish there was a better way to be fertile). In that situation, was Jess not supposed to mention it? Would this boy have liked to get his hand covered in blood instead? No, I think not. Then why is she being punished for telling him? Either way, she loses. Which means she’s effectively being punished simply for having an uncontrollable bodily function.

  And, more than that, why shouldn’t she be able to speak about it? I actually think women are generally very discreet about the whole thing (e.g. Gracie, who obviously bleeds rainbows). If guys bled out of their penises for a week of every month, you can bet we’d hear more about it.

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 8:30 P.M.

  I think I might actually feel a whisper of excitement. I’d almost forgotten there were other emotions aside from desolation and apathy. And I haven’t thought about Leon or Apple in at least ten minutes.

  We come downstairs and Andy is sitting at the kitchen table on his phone. Surrounded by cans of beer. He looks a bit like Gracie around the eyes, but more...er...like a boy.

  “So what time are people getting here?” Gracie asks, trying to act casual and failing.

  “Some of the guys are coming here for predrinks at nine.”

  “Cool.”

  “I think Babs is driving them here.”

  “Babs?” asks Steph.

  “His last name’s Babcock.” Andy looks up and smiles at Steph.

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 9:35 P.M.

  Gracie keeps jumping out of her skin every time the doorbell goes. (I’m actually feeling a little nervous, too.) It’s been thirty-five minutes since people arrived and we still haven’t spoken to anyone except each other. We’re all pretending it’s fine, like we’re some sort of incredibly exclusive club, not like a cluster of scared penguins huddled protectively together. I should probably stop running to the toilet and blogging.

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 9:42 P.M.

  OK, OK, just one more post because this was really satisfying. “Babs,” the designated driver for the evening, is a real meathead. I said this and Gracie replied, “What, just because he’s got big arms?”

  Then Meathead Babs called out, “Shove it down your bra! Shove it down your bra!” across the room, and I just smiled at her.

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 10:09 P.M.

  PS the Answer to Nerves Is...

  VODKA. Lots and lots of vodka. We’re just passing it round, taking turns to burn our insides. It really is foul without a mixer but a) it’s getting us drunk faster and b) everyone else is doing it and we don’t want to seem lame.

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 10:27 P.M.

  I’m only in the toilet again because I had to leave the room. (I am having fun. Sort of. Maybe? I imagine this is what “having fun” looks like, at the very least.) We’re talking to people now, in a manner of speaking, playing some drinking game where you sit in a circle and someone asks another person the most embarrassing/awkward/disgusting question they can think of. If that person hesitates and doesn’t instantly ask another socially inappropriate/repellent/horrific question to someone else, straightaway, then they have to answer it. I’ll give an example:

  “Have you ever had a sex dream about Jonno’s mum?”

  “Do you fear that deep down you are secretly a pedophile?”

  “Have you ever wanked with a parent in the room?”

  I got up when that wanking with a parent in the room question came up, just in case it got directed at me. When you’re eleven years old, having just discovered the glory of masturbation and stuck on holiday sharing a room with your mum, you really aren’t left with much choice.

  At some point Meathead Babs turned to Jonno and asked, “Would you bang Andy’s sister?”

  Jonno hesitated and they all went “ooooohhhhhhhh oh oh oh oh” in that really aggressive, loud way that makes “laddish” boys sound like packs of gorillas.

  “You ’ave to answer now, mate,” declared a satisfied Babs.

  “No, he really doesn’t,” said Andy.

  “Yeah, not answering that,” Jonno said, shaking his head.

  “But would you? Would you?” persisted Babs.

  The circle descended into shouts of “Answer, Jonno!” and “Come on, Jonno!” until Jonno grinned and said, “Yeah, all right, all right, yes.”

  More gorilla noises. Andy looked horrified and Gracie looked like she’d just accepted an Oscar.

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 10:34 P.M.

  Gracie is still smiling. She’s going to be UNBEARABLE for the rest of the night. All because some slobbering idiot with a very small head said he wouldn’t mind “banging” her.

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 10:48 P.M.

  “Gracie’s brother has a nice smile, don’t you think?” Steph pondered.

  “Steph, you realize if you went out with Gracie’s brother, you’d see her face every time he kissed you.”

  “Nooo.”

  “Actually, she’d probably kill you before it got that far.”

  “It’s probably not worth it.” She sighed wistfully.

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 11:17 P.M.

  Steph seems to have gotten over it, as she’s sitting in Jonno’s lap with his hands around her middle. I guess she’s gotten over Jonno’s abnormally small head, too.

  I was standing with Gracie and she started sighing.

  “I can’t believe Steph would do that.”

  “Do what?”

  She gestured to Steph, who was kissing Jonno so aggressively I wondered if she was trying to dislocate her jaw and eat him whole.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Because, you know, of what he said.”

  “That he would ‘bang’ you?”

  “Yes!”

  “In all honesty, Gracie, I’m not sure if there’s a single female in the room he wouldn’t ‘bang.’ I think his getting with Steph, not to put a downer on their whole romance, was probably less about choice and more about chance. Sort of like breaking in pool. Doesn’t matter which ball goes in the hole, as long as it’s a ball. Steph was standing near him seven minutes ago, and you weren’t.”

  “I should have known you wouldn’t support me,” she said, running off to her bedroom.

  I honestly thought that was incre
dibly supportive!!

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 11:48 P.M.

  Back in the toilet, with a bottle of gin. Somebody left it unattended and I swiped it, thus teaching them an important life lesson about being careless.

  I knocked on Gracie’s room a few times but she won’t come out. As a result of being ABANDONED I was targeted by a very lanky boy who was slurring his words and had beer down his shirt.

  “What’s so interesting?” he asked, gesturing to my phone.

  “Nothing,” I defended, quickly hiding it.

  Then he started showing me some game on his own phone where you have to get a pigeon or something safely across the road. I watched him stab drunkenly at the screen.

  “Look, and then you... Oh,” he’d say, looking genuinely crestfallen every time the thing died.

  After a few more minutes of wishing he would go away, I leaned on his arm slightly, the one holding his beer, so that it tipped up. Twelve seconds later he clocked and stared down bemusedly at his wet leg. I took the opportunity to slip away.

  I wish Leon was here. Leon back when he was still talking to me, that is. Obviously his being here now probably wouldn’t help my situation very much. But I used to have loads of fun with the old Leon. He would have laughed at everyone drinking their gross, straight vodka and we would have gone and sat in Gracie’s empty bathtub, throwing Hula Hoops in each other’s mouths and talking all night about everything and nothing.

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 12:36 A.M.

  Not that it matters. I am not with Leon. These random fifty people are all I’ve got right now. If I keep drinking maybe the alcohol will give me some semblance of emotion towards at least one of them.

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 1:07 A.M.

  Oh God, starting to feel a bit...peaky...but the alcohol may actually be working. Remaining on the edge of the crowd and talking to no one, I’ve yet to develop any individual bonds, but I’ve fostered a substantial, almost protective affection for this particular group. These aren’t just any fifty people I don’t care about, these are my fifty people I don’t care about.