Unexpected Blind Date

by Joanne Rawson

If any of Grace Worthing's friends dared to suggest she should go on a blind date, her answer would have been, "Blind dates are so tacky; they are definitely for the desperate." She was so over men! After her fifth Sex on the Beach cocktail she told friends she would never have sex again, let alone have sex on a beach. Then, somewhere between her second and third tequila slammer, Grace found herself, agreeing to meet Adrian. Little did she know how interesting and unexpected her blind date would be.


Frankly, if you asked me six months ago if I would give up my Tuesday quiz night with the girls, or go on a blind date, then my answer would undoubtedly have been, “Blind dates are so tacky. They are definitely for the desperate.” From the age of sixteen I have had fourteen years of dating, ten boyfriends, six of them lovers and, up until a year ago, had been in a four-year relationship that hit more icebergs than the Titanic. No, my blind date love boat days have well and truly sailed. I am so over men.

However, two weeks ago, Glenda, Nell, Christine and I, hit Cupids Cave—Nottingham’s notorious Saturday night hot spot for eighteen to twenty year old blushing brides to be, celebrating their last weekend of freedom. It was reluctant moral support for Glenda, who had been press ganged into her younger sister’s hen night. Like every member of our group, Glenda was proud not to be married.

Tucked away in a corner, I was not sure if I was more depressed that we were the oldest women in the club, or that I recognised so many of my ex pupils I had taught biology to in the past few years. At least three acknowledged me, flashing their diamond solitaires under my nose. They may not have found any ecological break-through, but one thing was certain, they had discovered a biological phenomenon that was oblivion to me, how to get a man and keep him.

Snivelling into my fifth Sex on the Beach cocktail, I began wallowing in a state of drunken remorse. Leaping from my bar stool I declared the fate of my future. “I will never have sex again, let alone have sex on a beach.”

“Of course you won’t, sweetie,” slurred Christine, pulling me back down. “You’re in a friggin nightclub full of friggin loved up women.” As Christine had told us a thousand times already tonight, a club with no men was sad as someone going into a wine bar and ordering coffee. “No offense, Glenda, but I need to find a club with some hot blooded men, and show those bad boys a good time.”

Nell, thirty-nine, a suffragette for women’s lib, now on her third pitcher of margaritas, for herself, slammed down her glass. “Sod it. It’s against all my princ—princ—oh bugger it.” She took a breath to stifle a hiccup. “Princ—iples, but the time is right for you, Grace, to meet Adrian. He has been with us only a few months at the nut house.” The nut house being our name for Fur Tree Mental health clinic, where Nell worked as a drama therapist. “He is single, thirty eight, very fit, plays a lot of sports, and owns his own house, and the catch is this; all he wants is a good time. Hell, if he was a woman I’d make a play for him myself.”

I shook my head vigorously. “No, no, no. No blind dates,”

Somewhere between my second and third tequila slammer, the girls had quashed all my issues of concern, emphasising all he wanted was a good time. And, as Glenda, quite rightly pointed out, “Jeez, Grace, you don’t have to marry the man.’ I found myself agreeing to meet Adrian.

"Unexpected Blind Date" by Joanne Rawson


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