Well hello there boys and girls and welcome to Ms Jen’s school of dating where today we are going to look at three* of the most important F-words in the world of dating: fashion, flossing and phalanges. Okay, so that last one is just an F-sounding word but hey, it worked for arithmetic in the three Rs.
Now I know the rule is ‘don’t judge a book by its cover’, but like it or not, prance around with a dodgy cover, and your chances of a quality reader picking you up reduce significantly. It’s not judging, it’s screening, and I gotta be honest, having thrown myself back into this whole dating business again, the more dates I go on, the more ruthless I become.
Chiswick boy made his appearance last night wearing what I can only assume to be a hand-me-down jumper from his grandfather.
The fact is that no matter how open-minded you would like to think you are, there are things you like and things you just don’t, and often these relate to appearance. It can take a while to accept this without feeling guilty but once you do, man things become easier!
It should come as no surprise then that I personally do try and take a bit of care with my appearance before I head out on a date – my friend Sarah enquired just yesterday as to whether my ensemble usually includes a set of lucky underwear. It should also explain why I could not help raising an eyebrow when Chiswick boy made his appearance last night wearing what I can only assume to be a hand-me-down jumper from his grandfather. Its baby poo beige hue was particularly fetching and really accentuated the holes.
Perhaps if he’d been a penniless sitar player (oh, Ewan…) I would have given him the benefit of the doubt, but with that public school background and a cushy job in the city, uh-ah, you’ve got no excuse. And no, I’m not asking for head-to-toe Amani – in fact that would freak me out too – but there is a bit of sales & marketing involved in dating so come on, show a bit of effort, boys!
“How do you tell someone that they stink?” a friend asked me a few days ago. Yowzers, tough one.
Apparently she has met a charming, funny, good looking young lad but the chap appears to suffer from such a bad case of halitosis that the thought of ever having to lock lips with him fills my dear friend with dread (and a little bit of bile).
Having done some research into the matter – yes, it’s that bad – she believes that flossing is the key. I kid you not she actually wrote a song about it to the tune of ‘I got you babe’.
Therefore, given the serious nature of the issue and for the benefit of all the single ladies out there, Beau Dacious would hereby like to issue a public service announcement: chaps, no floss, no tongue foolery. Here’s a cheeky little song to remind you.
I’m guessing you’re a bit confused about this one. You may recall last Thursday’s date with nice biscuit man after which I shamefully admitted to being heightist and spending far more energy than is proper worrying about the inadequate size of his hands. Well, it happened again with Chiswick boy.
Yip, it appears I am handicapped, doomed to fall only for men with big hands (and associated sizeable phalanges). I can hear you sniggering away thinking “you know what they say about men with big hands” and you know what, maybe ‘they’ are right. Maybe this is instinct telling me how to sort the virile from the fragile because there’s just something about a soft little hand on a man that makes me feel a bit too dominant. Sure, I could pretend to ignore it and aspire to be morally bigger, but alas I fear size may in fact count. Not for everything, but for something.
So now all I have to do is find a snappily dressed tall man with big hands and a flossing habit. Know anyone?
*What? Did you think you’d find THAT word down here? A lady never swears in public; it’s vulgar.