Read Online Alice Brown's Lessons in the Curious Art of Dating by Eleanor Prescott - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Eleanor Prescott
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dating agency questionnaire, and every question asked led to a million more. Even something simple like ‘What kind of music do you like?’ was a minefield. Should she fess up to a list of ballads and cheesy big-night-out tunes, or should she plump for something more credible – an obscure Mercury Prize nominee? Which looked best? Did ‘fun’ translate into ‘bimbo’, and ‘arty’ into ‘bore’? What kind of music did men
want
her to like? This wasn’t a questionnaire at all; it was a deadly game of dating Russian roulette.
She grabbed her phone.
‘Am I spontaneous?’ she demanded the moment Lou picked up.
‘Is it in the schedule?’ Lou flashed back. It was 8.30 and the bar sounded hectic behind her.
‘I can do spur of the moment! What about that time we got drunk in the pub next to the station and ended up partying in Edinburgh?’
‘That was ten years ago; I rest my case. That’s six pounds twenty, mate.’
‘What about my favourite book . . . ? Do you think it sounds better to say
Wolf Hall
or
The Blair Years
?’
‘Are you doing your dating agency form, by any chance? Christ, just put the
Kama Sutra
. Nobody’ll say no to that. D’you want it on the rocks, gorgeous, or as nature intended?’
‘This is so hard! I mean, what do men want you to put?’
‘The
Top Gear
Annual? I dunno, Kate. You joined the agency; you work it out.’
Kate put down the phone and frowned. One of the reasons she’d joined Table For Two was precisely to avoid this kind of form. She hated them. They cast you in iron and forced you to lie. She’d never told Lou, but she
had
tried online dating sites before – though she’d never got further than the profile questionnaires. It wasn’t
just
their limiting multiple-choice answers, it was where the forms went when you’d finished that put her off. She didn’t want her profile uploaded into some cyberspace catalogue of the unpullable. Anyone could log in and judge her: clients, exes, old schoolmates . . .
Julian
. It was humiliating. And then there werethe questionnaires themselves. It was bad enough to be asked your income and your views on politics . . . but your age? Your exercise regime? Your
weight
? And even if she shaved off a stone and said twenty-something, she still had to tick her body shape. Was she skinny, athletic, curvy or cuddly? Skinny and athletic were obviously out; but was cuddly just code for obese? And did curvy mean Kelly-Brook-voluptuous or lard-lady dressed in a tent? Why couldn’t they just put in a box for a passable size 12 on top but needing work down below? Didn’t they know that by ticking curvy she might be limiting herself to the heavyweights and the feeders?
The whole thing had been enough to put her off. And OK, so the Table For Two ‘All About You’ form wasn’t exactly a walk in the park, but at least it wasn’t about her body. And at least it would be private.
She struggled through the next few questions before picking up her phone again.
‘OK, so for “What couldn’t you live without?” I’ve put morning espressos and my iPad.’
‘More like Zara and Reiss,’ Lou scoffed.
‘Speaking of which . . . on a scale of one to ten, how wrong is it to put shopping as my hobby?’
‘It’s beyond wrong.’
‘So what
should
I put?’
‘Five-aside and three-in-a-bed? Sorry mate, the Speckled Hen’s off.’
‘Maybe I should put baking – men love women who cook. Just look at Nigella . . .’
‘For fuck’s sake, Kate. Why don’t you go the whole hog and say sock-darning and washing-up?’
Kate ignored her. ‘How would you describe my style?’
‘Certifiable?’
‘I’ve put Danni meets Christina Hendricks. Do you think men will get it?’
‘Yeah, all the gay ones. Look, Kate, it’s heaving down here tonight. It’s wall-to-wall blokes, and they’re all drunk and vulnerable. I’ve got everything from geek-chic to beefcake. Forget all this dating agency rubbish. Get your arse down here and start
want
her to like? This wasn’t a questionnaire at all; it was a deadly game of dating Russian roulette.
She grabbed her phone.
‘Am I spontaneous?’ she demanded the moment Lou picked up.
‘Is it in the schedule?’ Lou flashed back. It was 8.30 and the bar sounded hectic behind her.
‘I can do spur of the moment! What about that time we got drunk in the pub next to the station and ended up partying in Edinburgh?’
‘That was ten years ago; I rest my case. That’s six pounds twenty, mate.’
‘What about my favourite book . . . ? Do you think it sounds better to say
Wolf Hall
or
The Blair Years
?’
‘Are you doing your dating agency form, by any chance? Christ, just put the
Kama Sutra
. Nobody’ll say no to that. D’you want it on the rocks, gorgeous, or as nature intended?’
‘This is so hard! I mean, what do men want you to put?’
‘The
Top Gear
Annual? I dunno, Kate. You joined the agency; you work it out.’
Kate put down the phone and frowned. One of the reasons she’d joined Table For Two was precisely to avoid this kind of form. She hated them. They cast you in iron and forced you to lie. She’d never told Lou, but she
had
tried online dating sites before – though she’d never got further than the profile questionnaires. It wasn’t
just
their limiting multiple-choice answers, it was where the forms went when you’d finished that put her off. She didn’t want her profile uploaded into some cyberspace catalogue of the unpullable. Anyone could log in and judge her: clients, exes, old schoolmates . . .
Julian
. It was humiliating. And then there werethe questionnaires themselves. It was bad enough to be asked your income and your views on politics . . . but your age? Your exercise regime? Your
weight
? And even if she shaved off a stone and said twenty-something, she still had to tick her body shape. Was she skinny, athletic, curvy or cuddly? Skinny and athletic were obviously out; but was cuddly just code for obese? And did curvy mean Kelly-Brook-voluptuous or lard-lady dressed in a tent? Why couldn’t they just put in a box for a passable size 12 on top but needing work down below? Didn’t they know that by ticking curvy she might be limiting herself to the heavyweights and the feeders?
The whole thing had been enough to put her off. And OK, so the Table For Two ‘All About You’ form wasn’t exactly a walk in the park, but at least it wasn’t about her body. And at least it would be private.
She struggled through the next few questions before picking up her phone again.
‘OK, so for “What couldn’t you live without?” I’ve put morning espressos and my iPad.’
‘More like Zara and Reiss,’ Lou scoffed.
‘Speaking of which . . . on a scale of one to ten, how wrong is it to put shopping as my hobby?’
‘It’s beyond wrong.’
‘So what
should
I put?’
‘Five-aside and three-in-a-bed? Sorry mate, the Speckled Hen’s off.’
‘Maybe I should put baking – men love women who cook. Just look at Nigella . . .’
‘For fuck’s sake, Kate. Why don’t you go the whole hog and say sock-darning and washing-up?’
Kate ignored her. ‘How would you describe my style?’
‘Certifiable?’
‘I’ve put Danni meets Christina Hendricks. Do you think men will get it?’
‘Yeah, all the gay ones. Look, Kate, it’s heaving down here tonight. It’s wall-to-wall blokes, and they’re all drunk and vulnerable. I’ve got everything from geek-chic to beefcake. Forget all this dating agency rubbish. Get your arse down here and start
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