Dating Drama with Rivington Rouge

It's time for the second installment from Fashion Slant's girl-about-town, Ms Rivington Rouge. Lock up your Grandpas girls...

Bedding Down

At the moment, I am working at a rather curious job that often sees me lying on a bed for hours at a time, which to some passers by may be seen as somewhat suggestive. Firstly, let me assure you, I am merely reading at work on a bed (which is there more for publicity than anything else). For some reason, my bored expression and risqué position seem to invite a plethora of oddballs to come and shoot the breeze with me.

I would like to amend my previous statement that, “I never get asked out on dates,” to; “I never get asked out on dates by men even close to my age” because apparently men old enough to be my grandfather like the look of me.

Let me set the scene a bit,…

I’m lying on the bed (as mentioned above) and I look up from my book and I see this man hovering, rather oddly by the entrance. I smile, give a cursory laugh at the ridiculous nature of my job and shrug my shoulders in a, “Eh, what can you do?” kind of manner. He takes the bait sadly, (I wasn’t aware I was fishing; who knew?) and says, “I used to deal in antiques,” I respond by telling him, nicely I think, “Really, must have been interesting?” and he then whips out his reading glasses to give the bed a full on inspection, which somehow he uses to start a rather laborious conversation with me. I nod, smile and ask him some questions and then he says to my amusement, “I’m sorry, did I just hear you say you’d have a drink with me after work? My hearing sometimes fails me.” I was taken aback slightly by his nerve so start laughing, I mean what would you do in this situation? I then try to come up with a reason why I can’t join him for a drink after work.

He then continues to chat to me for a further five minutes and then just like that, saunters over to the side of the bed and sticks his hand out to shake mine. I, in a rather flustered state (most likely due to the fact that I never get asked out) told him, “Wow, you have big hands,” to which he rather creepily replied, “You know what they say about big hands,” and I said, “No, what’s that?” and he goes, “big feet and you know…!” while looking at his penis. Disgusted at the thought of him even mentioning he has a penis, I proceeded to giggle in such a manner I frankly embarrass myself. This not getting asked out business is really throwing me for a loop if I get flustered around a man like this. Then he says to me, “We’re already half way to finding out, with you lying on that bed like that,” seriously gramps? Thankfully, he left after that parting blow, and I decided I had better stay behind the desk in future.

The most interesting thing about this slightly ludicrous situation was that this man, despite being at least twice my age actually had the balls to ask me out. Had he been a bit closer in age, I may have gone out with him - if only for his sheer audacity.

Obviously this guy has decades on anyone I would normally be attracted to and probably has experience of being rejected countless times over the years but despite all this he still decided to put himself out on a limb. This begs the question: This older man had more boldness than the majority of the men I meet, so what exactly are men in London so afraid of? Is it because we’ve been raised to do things ‘properly’ (whatever that may be). Or is it because some challenging women have made it more difficult and scary for men to summon their courage? What exactly are they so afraid of? In a country that prides itself on propriety and doing things traditionally, where have the basics of courtship disappeared to?