Chapter 2

• September. (It was last year.)
• That's all there is to it. My very first date.
• Few people have their first date at the age of 27, and I'm not proud of it, but it's true and one of the things you should know about me. Another factor is that I am nervous. Nerves are causing pain in my stomach. Maybe I'm coming down with something. I won't be able to snog him then. Will I kiss him? I'm not sure. For the first time, how do you snog someone? At the age of 27, do people still say'snog'?
• For fuck's sake, I haven't had a first kiss since I was 20. I'm sure I've forgotten how.
• I'm on my way to meet my date at Bam-Bou at 8 p.m., and I'm taking the tube. I'm actually 40 minutes early. Typical.
• I don't think he's that amazing, or that I remember him that well. Maybe my sister was correct. I should have gone on the first date with someone I despise. 'Sharpen your tools on someone blunt,' she suggested.
• I'm not even sure if I have any tools to sharpen.
• By the way, I'm not a recovering nun. I've just been in a relationship for a long time. I'm talking about the fact that I was in a relationship. I'm not used to speaking in the past tense. When I talk about things I've done, I've only recently stopped using the word "we." As in, "we loved that movie," or "we went there for dinner." That's what happens when you only have one boyfriend from the age of 20 to the age of 27 and a half. I left him in July, and now I'm back just over two months later. I am now officially single. And they're now officially dating.
• My date, Paulie, is the first guy to ask me out. Mind you, he's not the first guy to ask for my phone number. One thing I've learned in the last two months of being single is that guys will sometimes ask for your number and then not call, even if you think they will, and you'll work yourself up into a nervous frenzy every night waiting.
• To kill time and double-check my makeup, I stop for a drink at The Roxy. A double gin and tonic will help you relax. Two edges are possible.
• I met Paulie last weekend, and even though he didn't take his sunglasses off (it was an unusually sunny September, and Plum and I were standing outside a pub trying to smoke and flirt, or'smirt' as it's apparently called), I got the impression he liked me.
• At the end of the night, he gave me his business card and told me to email him. As a result, I did.
• And now I'm here. I'm losing my virginity.
• After all the obsessing, er, light discussing I'd been doing with Sophie, Plum, and Henry for the past two months, it was surprisingly easy to get asked out. Of course, everyone had different suggestions.
• 'Just laugh a lot,' my sister Sophie (the only one in a relationship) said. 'It was always effective for me.'
• 'When a guy talks to you, touch his arm and flick your hair,' Plum advised (last relationship: depends on your definition of'relationship'). 'It's subtle body language, and those signals indicate that you're curious.'
• 'How come you keep asking me this nonsense? Get wasted and jump on him. It'd do it for me,' Henry (last relationship: never) said.
• 'I thought you were confident?' exclaimed my mother (married to my father for life, has a hazy understanding of modern dating due to a serious period drama box set addiction).
• As a result, they were of little assistance.
• Anyway, I always thought I was self-assured. Ish.
• However, being single and confident is not the same as being in a relationship and confident. It's less difficult in a relationship. My ex-boyfriend, Peter, was a constant source of comfort. I didn't have to make new friends; I just had a few old ones with whom I shared his. I talked to him if I couldn't talk to anyone else at a party. He would speak for me if I found a group intimidating. And so forth.
• So, the first time I was approached by a reasonably attractive guy in a bar, I felt sweatily self-conscious and couldn't wait to get away. (After about 45 seconds, he seemed to feel the same way about me.)
• Confidence is a ridiculous word. I don't think I'm worthless or anything. Sometimes I just can't think of anything to say. Then, when I say things, I wonder if they sound a little shite. In my head, I frequently converse with myself. But doesn't everyone?
• Perhaps it's not confidence, but rather a knack for being chatted up. I believe I'm getting better. Maybe. I enjoy going to bars and drinking, and what do you know, men do as well.
• So, here I am. We're on a date. I give you a high five.
• I'm curious how Peter is doing. We split up in July, and he moved in with his brother Joe, took a year off from work, and embarked on a year-long backpacking trip. He mentioned it as one of the things he felt he missed out on by being in a relationship with me for his entire twenties.
• I'm curious what I missed out on.
• I guess I'll find out soon.
• Breaking up with him was the most difficult thing I'd ever had to do.
• There isn't much in books, music, or movies to help you leave someone who is very nice but not quite right. He's not mean, you're not unhappy, and no one cheats. It's just a sad, slow process of coming to an end.
• Peter's such a reasonable guy that he didn't even disagree when I said, 'I don't think we're right for each other, I think deep down you know it too. So I believe we should part ways.' He simply nodded. He would have continued to live with me for years without questioning whether we had a good relationship or just a functional one. All Peter really desired was a simple life. And - wait a minute, why am I thinking about my ex-fucking-boyfriend? I'm about to go on a date. Abigail, put a stop to it.