I thought last week’s Watch Me Date was the concluding one, but it wasn’t! And this week, it’s lesbians, which makes a nice change.
Linda is a private chef – as opposed to being a public one and cooking in the middle of the high street, I suppose – and seems very serious. She kicks off her VT by saying she prefers “feminine women”.
Of course, if she were a gay man, we’d all be picking up our pitchforks and heading over to his house screaming “Death to Masc4Masc haterz”, but sometimes you just like what you like, so good for Linda.
Angela, a vet, says she likes dating “open books” and “optimists”. This then cuts back to Linda saying she’s “quite fussy” and that she’s “prepared to be on her own rather than with someone who’s not right for me”. Oh dear.
There is an amazing bit where Linda describes how she was set up on a blind date by a guy at work where “She has big tits” was used as a selling point. “She told me later on,” says Linda, “that he said to her ‘she’s got small tits’”. Men: please stop acting like dicks.
Angela says Linda was pretty but a little reserved, which seems like a massive understatement. Linda seems to be playing her card so close to her chest they are practically inside her shirt. She blatantly fancied Angela, though.
When they share coming-out stories, the reason for Linda’s steely demeanour perhaps becomes a bit clearer. Her parents didn’t take it well and even tried to get her “cured”. If you had an easy coming-out, thank your lucky stars, young gays.
Angela talks about her family having a hard time when she dated non-white women. Just goes to show, it’s not 2015 for everybody.
Linda wants to have a baby – and is obviously getting crap from her family about that too – and wants to do it soon. Angela seems open to having a child “depending on the person I’m with” and while they’re getting on, I sense we will be needing a one-way ticket to the friend-zone for our Linda.
The pair finally break the serious talk with some bonding over Linda’s dog – Angela’s a vet remember – and Linda confesses her pug sleeps in bed with her. “I’ve got parts of her on me, I’m sure, right now.” Oh, Linda, I love you a bit, you know.
Chef Linda actually brought her date some chocolates that she made herself, a lovely gesture which now automatically shames us all who don’t bring something to a date. “Chocolate is my weakness,” says Angela. “I love women who can cook for me,” she explains, and it all looks a bit hopeful. And then: “I’m sure she’s a catch for quite a few women.” Ouch. If chocolate can’t get someone to fancy you, we’re all screwed.
Linda marks Angela an eight, but she really means nine, I can tell – I know about this kind of stuff. Angela gives Linda a seven, and she means seven.
This is all very nice, but there’s been barely a hint of excitement, a spark. It’s like the feeling you get when you open a new bottle of mouthwash and discover you bought peppermint instead of spearmint. Mildly diverting, a little annoying, temporary. Then forgotten.
“I would’ve met up with her again had we exchanged numbers,” says Linda, as I sadly pack away my best wedding hat.
“I wouldn’t mind meeting her for a coffee at some point,” says Angela. She brought you chocolate. CHOCOLATE.
I give up.