Wow, I started accumulating matches on eHarmony, but it was a little jungle, with a variety of men. (1) The Ghost. A man you chat with for weeks, you start to like and he disappears all of a sudden. I assume they are either dead or in a coma. (2) The Penpal. He writes to you for weeks and when you ask him out, he blocks you. (3) The Pushover. He is tooooo nice, a typical nice man, and wants you to manipulate him. He’s desperate for a date; he sends you loads of passionate emails, as if you were the only one in the world for him. You find this cute until you discover that he does this to billions of ladies and doesn’t have a life. (4) The Ladies’ Man. He’s a chain-dater; he dates you on a Sunday for a coffee, in fact, he books a table for the whole day and has back-to-back dates, finally sleeping with the last date (hypothetically the hottest chick). Cheaper than a prostitute! (5) The Corporate. He doesn’t have time for you, at least that’s what he wants you to think. He plans his dates three weeks in advance. You’re excited and when the date arrives, he cancels. (6) The Adventurous. He simply sleeps with everyone. I mean really everyone, everything and nothing. Ideal date for STDs seekers. (7) The Pathological Liar. A week ago, he mentioned his amazing pilot job for Virgin Atlantic, but today he’s a successful and trendy architect, and when you meet him he’s nothing. Scammer to avoid! (8) The Funny One. At least he thinks he is. The words “fun” and “funny” are mentioned hundreds of times on his profile. In fact, he doesn’t take life seriously (mentioned as well), I mean really, really not seriously! He makes silly and goofy jokes including one involving the death of your grandmother three weeks ago. Clearly not funny. (9) The Free Spirits. They are not in a hurry to date, and will do so next year or maybe the following one. (10) The Stalker. He looks at your profile religiously every day with or without emailing you. Sometimes, when you email him, he never replies but keeps on stalking your profile.
Welcome to my world. You’ve been warned!
Oh! I forgot The Professional Profile (the normal?). He reads your profile from A to Z and sends you a smashing first email as powerful as an L’Oréal advertisement. They are usually funny, intelligent, and carefully choose their dates. And Gábor was one of them.
Gábor was a cute Hungarian of 36 years of age who had been living in London for seven years. He was a doctor in a private hospital near Greenwich. We shared the same interests for sporting events, travel and geopolitics. I was delighted to know that he had passions and always made himself busy over the weekends.
Gábor had dark hair, almond eyes, and was slim and athletic.
I had never been out with a Hungarian before; I loved that London had given me the opportunity to date internationally and to discover new cultures through my dating experiences.
Since we had exchanged numbers, Gábor had been very caring, sending me regular texts. Nothing too intrusive, just the right words at the right time.
After a week of this exchange, we decided to meet. We opted for a dinner date at a French restaurant called Le Garrick in Covent Garden. He basically wanted to honour my country and me. I’d been to that restaurant before; in fact it was one of my ex-husband’s favourites. I’d never had the courage to go back since, but I was more than willing to build new memories there.
The date
Whilst I tried my best to be on time, I was ten minutes late. I annoyingly took the tube, as I could not find a cab. Out of the tube station and on my way to the restaurant, I called him.
Misfortune! Catastrophe! I did not understand a single word of what he was saying! Was it English? I had my ear glued to my phone, to the point that half of my makeup stained the screen, and a finger stuck on the other ear trying to catch his words. I probably asked him five times where he was waiting. Embarrassed that I could not understand, I decided to head to the restaurant hoping Gábor was there and easy to locate. I must admit that at this point, I began to sweat out of stress. What if I couldn’t understand any words he said that night? Why did I skip that pre-date phone call that I usually have with the others?
I arrived at the Garrick where I recognised Gábor straight away. He was such a handsome man. His pictures didn’t do him justice. Upon my arrival, I had a glass of champagne waiting for me. I was really flattered. After a warm welcome, he did not hesitate to mention my lateness and added irately, “Two minutes more and I was gone. You’re lucky.” Fair enough! He was in his own right! I apologised and by way of apologies, I offered to pay for the whole meal. He refused gentlemanly. I was also relieved, as I could understand all of his words. So what happened over the phone? I didn’t know.
After a few minutes, the tension cooled down and Gábor started smiling. What a charming smile he had! After two sips of champagne, we were both ready to mingle.
Mingle? Not really. I had to keep asking him to repeat his questions. At some points, I answered his questions by guessing what he meant. Bad idea! And more than often, I was completely wrong in my estimations.
Gábor questioned with a Hollywood smile, “Then mmm mmm mmm Paris?” Not again! Was it a joke? I looked at him disbelievingly. He repeated twice tiresomely and I decided to guess his words, “Yes, I was born in Paris and I have been in London for almost four years.”
He insisted, “Mmm mmm mmm go to Paris last mmm?”
I was blushing purple, “Oh, that was two weeks ago.” That was just the beginning. That was when I started drinking fast; hoping that the Champagne then Côte de Provence would help me to understand him clearly. Gábor mumbled, “Mmm mmm mmmm mmm mmm mmm mmm mmm London?”
I responded hesitantly, “Yes, I love London and its diversity.”
He replied, “No, I meant mmmm mmmm mmmm friends?”
I had to ask him to rephrase. Friends? London? I had no clue what he meant. I confessed politely, “I beg your pardon. I can’t understand.”
Gábor retold, “Mmmm mmmm mmmm friends? Paris?”
What the hell?! Should I ask him to repeat again? I decided not to. I opted to go for a reply on Paris and another on my friends, so I speculated again, “I prefer Paris for its beauty, its culture and of course my friends over there that I really miss.” He looked at me incredulously. I felt like the most stupid woman in the world.
Then, later in the night it happened again. (God, this dinner couldn’t have been any longer!)
Gábor demanded, “Mmmm mmmm mmmm mmmm?”
I began to be very angry at him and myself, and couldn’t help but revealing, “Gábor, I don’t understand you I’m afraid.”
He didn’t seem to care or maybe he didn’t understand, he just added, “Mmmm mmmm mmmm?”
This was the worst of the worst; I had no clue what to reply here. And I reiterated, “I am sorry I don’t understand Gábor.”
I could tell he was annoyed but Gábor didn’t give up, “Mmmm English mmmm mmmm mmmm mmmm?” I was getting there but I probably needed five additional sorries. Impossible. I was caught. What could he possibly be asking? If I like English men? If I dated English men? I had to answer quickly as he was staring. I decided to go with, “I like English food, I think people…”
He interrupted me, “You mmmm mmmm business school mmmm clown school,” he cackled.
Putain de merde! I thought. I was tired of guessing. At every word I tried to read his lips, a skill that I did not have. I had never been that attentive to someone’s elocution in my life. I was having a horribly busy night converting gibberish into English and I couldn’t take it anymore. In fact, I started a nervous monologue about my culture, life and my passions. I was sweating like a pig (does a pig sweat?) and believe me; I rarely sweat speaking 200 words per minute! I did not let him talk for the rest of the night for fear of not understanding. There were some really uncomfortable moments and awkward silences but I did not care.
Just before the end of the night, Gábor picked up a phone call and started speaking in Englarian again. English? Hungarian? I was not sure. He hung up and quipped that he had to go because his 29-year-old cousin had died in her sleep. That was what I understood, maybe he meant something else, but I was relieved that he had more inspiration than me to cut our dinner short.
Bill paid, he solemnly said to me, "Thank you for this evening, you were a great talker. I think you and I could be good friends." This guy was really multitalented; he could mumble, lie and piss me off at the same time. I knew that the remark was cynical. I gave him a polite smile and disappeared into the busy streets of Covent Garden. I did not see Gábor again – the Hungarian accent was definitely not for me. Next!