Anyone for tequila? Or perhaps some soothing Drum and Bass?

It’s that time again, when we regale you with times we were ridiculous, (the ones feeling) embarrassed or (being the) embarrassing humans and you get to relate, or laugh (mostly laugh) or cringe or decide we’re too weird to even be real…it’s fine, we know the deal.

This is about the awkwardness of trying to impress a love interest. In this case, said ‘interest’ is now my husband, so although a cautionary tale in many respects, it will serve its intended purpose in encouraging you to be you regardless of how much of a tool you feel (or possibly occasionally are. We ALL are).

One tequila, that’s it, there’s no two, three, floor here.

Ahh to be young and in lust. When I met my husband he was three goes around the sun senior than my eighteen years and at the time that gap felt huge. He seemed so worldly (LOL) and mature (mega LOL) and I was all fresh-faced and just out of high school. So it goes without saying I was on the ‘Impression Train’ and it was headed straight for ‘Sure, I’m totally in that..if you are, town’ – catchy, huh?

There were many, many things he liked that I was either indifferent to, or flat out didn’t like, but of course, the first throws of love are delicate times and rocking that boat (in the none-sexy way) is not part of the strategy. So, because I was such a hilariously impressionable and insecure flower, I *may* have painted a picture of myself in some situations that was not wholly accurate.

Tequila. I don’t like it, never have. I don’t have a near death story. I’ve never woken up after half a bottle in an unknown location, but still, I just don’t like it. Fast forward to a sticky-floored bar in my university town and this happens:

Him: I’ll get these…

Me: (From behind endlessly fluttery eyelashes) Oh, thanks so much kind sir (ish

Him: I’ll get some tequilas. Do you like tequila?

Me:……..(Christ no. oh, no. Nooooo. Not shots. Awful. I might die)

Also me:…….Yeah sure!

So there we have a classic, doing-the-thing-to-impress-the-boy. Not a huge one you might think, but it went downhill from there. He was at the time a Drum and Bass DJ and anyone who saw my CD collection circa 2002 knows this was very far removed from my own musical tastes.

Pop girl goes Drum and Bass….

I rounded off my era of pretending to like things with an eye-opening attendance at a real, made for proper fans Drum and Bass night in Nottingham. I had nothing to wear, I ended up in a vest and some questionable combat trousers (it was 200/3 so it was mostly allowed – don’t judge me).

I learned many things that night…..that unless you love it, dancing to this particular music is very hard. I stand out like a sore thumb in such situations (I am much more suited to pop and musicals), I can’t dress casually at all and such events are terrifying when you’re sober.

The moral of this story is be yourself. I think (hope) these occasions were not in any way classed as dealbreakers and I am sure I could have another drink and/or said ‘No thank you darling, I don’t want to go to that night as I like places where I am not sticking to the floor’ without fear of our fledgling relationship crumbling into oblivion.


Or…he knew the whole time but was so impressed by my commitment, I got the girlfriend (now wife) points anyway.




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