Small Talk

I'd dressed up. I looked smart, I thought, even if I'd made that assumption myself from several glances in the mirror. It was a first date. I hadn't been on one for a long time so I was keen to make an effort and a positive first impression. As I approached the bar I felt the anxiety rising. I was early so ordered a small glass of wine. Dutch courage, perhaps, but I wanted to get this right. I ran through a number of conversation topics in my head but then decided that it was best to be spontaneous, unrehearsed, it would be much more natural. And anyway there was enough information on her profile for me to be able to show interest and have a conversation without any rehearsal. 

She was on time and I liked her instantly. She seemed a little tense, probably the same pre-date nerves that I had experienced. After the formalities and ordering drinks I decided to break the ice with a nice, relaxed chatty approach. Maybe it was 'small talk' but no need to go into any in-depth stuff straight from the off.

“So, how long you had the saloon?” I asked.

“Sorry? Saloon?” she replied, frowning.

“Yeah, it says you run a saloon on your profile. Seems pretty cool job,” I said with  smile.

“A saloon? No, a salon. A beauty salon. You must’ve misread it.”

Thoughts of free beer vanished immediately. I shuffled uncomfortably in my seat and tried to recover. Maybe small talk wasn't my forte! “Oh, sorry. My mistake. Uh, I don’t s’pose you really get much opportunity to use it yourself?”

Her frown grew more pronounced. “I beg your pardon? What’s that meant to mean?”

I shuffled in my seat again. “Nothing. Uh, I meant, you know, erm… you probably don't get time to take advantage of... you know, what with, err - ”

“No, I don’t know. What’re you trying to say?”

I realised I’d fallen into a trap of my own making. I took a large gulp of wine, thinking how I might retrieve the situation. “I just meant that as you own it... the saloon... sorry, the salon, you probably don’t get to use it… uh, not that I think you need to use it… you look fine without any… without all that beauty treatment thing… uh, make-up, stuff.”

She leaned forward, the frown emphasised considerably. “So, you think I look plain?”

I never said that, I thought, but I didn’t get a chance to respond.

“For what it’s worth, I’ll have you know I made a great deal of effort for our date tonight. I didn’t expect you to be so dismissive.”

Dismissive? “Listen, I just… there's a balance between a lot..." I hesitated. I realised I might be digging a deeper hole for myself. "Look, your make-up looks great. I can see you’ve taken lots of time over it and - ” 

“Oh, I see. So you think I have too much on then?”

I opened my mouth to speak but was cut off, as she stood up abruptly.

“Let me tell you, mister. You’re no oil painting yourself so don’t be going around commenting on other people’s appearance until you sort your own out.” She turned on her heel and headed for the door.

So much for checking my own look in the mirror! I slugged the rest of my wine, beckoned to the barman for a refill and considered that perhaps I should book an appointment with a life coach before I contemplated another date.