Tina and the Hobbit part 2- from Frodo to Gollum

Ok, so I contacted him (but I had the dignity to wait 3 days before I did so). Classic Facebook stalk.

Friend request accepted, and faster than Samwise Gamgee can trot from the Shire to Mordor, we had a date scheduled.  Awesome! A man that doesn’t muck around or play games- tick.

Next dilemma.  Heels, or flats?? Every girl’s short date nightmare. I decided to take my cue from the world’s preeminent height mismatched couple (TomKat) and daringly, chose heels.

Now, I’m a fan of beer and books- so where better than to try Archive- a new boutique Beer House in West End, where the bar is made entirely of books (you can’t read them, of course, but it’s still cool.)

But would he meet up to my First Aid fantasies (Oh Dr Slaaaaade!!!)? Or would I (two) tower over him and snap out of it?

Well, first up, I was struck by how beautiful his face was.  Quite angelic with big eyes and dreamy vaseline-on-the-lens smeared features.  He had one of those tiny growths beneath his bottom lip (not my thing, but I could make a concession for him needing to visibly prove that he had reached puberty).

We were sitting down most of the night, so the height thing wasn’t an issue.  The chat was fast and furious, and importantly (and a little uncharacteristically), I didn’t spill any food on my dress.

After a couple of beers, he was quite open about how much he fancied me the day we met, how he loved the moment when I touched his hair (the course instructor had told us to look for any concerning signs on our unconscious victims, and I’d said “Hmmm… these grey hairs are a bit of a worry”) and half a dozen other little things he remembered from the day.  Aw, sweet.

He also told me about how he had planned to track me down- he had worked out the name of the horse-riding school where I coach, and was going to contact me there. (I was both impressed and kicking myself for not sticking to my no chasing policy).  He asked questions like “Did I read in bed, and if so, did I lie down, sit up etc” (yeah, yeah when you write it down like this, it sounds SO cheesy.)

And, finally, sitting on some couches down the back of the pub, we kissed, and it was lovely. Not fireworks, but nice, and no awkward tongue action.  After, he sat there (hang in there folks, I’m going all M&B on you) shook his head, opened and closed his mouth a few times, and whispered “You’ve, well, you’ve stumped me.  I’m lost for words… (open, close…) your kiss, your smile…. I can really see myself spending a lot of time with you.”

Yeah, okay so I’m with you. This is going pretty well, right?  So far, so good.  He was on time. Tick.  Paid for dinner. Tick.  Walked me to my car. Tick.  Date even approached the mammoth 5 hour mark.

But it wouldn’t be fair to share only the good bits.  For one, he had ‘dead hand’- holding my hand as we walked to the car…but really loosely, like he almost couldn’t be bothered.  We shared a car kiss (as in, while standing by the car) but he was a little bit inappropriately gropey (that ship sailed back in the Community Hall carpark).  Also while we were kissing he was making some funny, well, whimpering noises (the type that are mayhaps more appropriate in the, er, height of passion, than the busy streets of West End).

Anyway, one last kiss, and he lay his forehead on mine, breathed in dramatically, thanked me for the night and said softly “We’ll do this again soon, yeah?”

I drove home, feeling tired, but happy that the night went well.  Not exactly fist pumping, but a good start.  We agreed to catch up a few days later, on Sunday afternoon.  A couple of texts in the days between, but no time or activity set.

So Sunday, I waited to hear from him.  By noon- no text.  Etiquette dictates contact should be made before 10.30 for an arvo catch up in my book, so by this time,  I was a bit miffed.  I sent a text “Hey Slade, what’s the plan for today?”  I’m a busy gal and some time boundaries would have been really useful.

2pm ticks past.  Nothing.  Nada.  Not a word.  By this point, I’m angry, but still open to there being an acceptable explanation (like a loose rhino from the zoo trampled his phone, or an alien abduction).  I send a message saying “You dont seem like the kind of guy to leave a girl wondering when and what she might be doing.  If you dont want to meet up, that’s fine, but could you let me know.”

The response, exactly as received “Sorry Tina….just rising from s recovery and feeling a little more human.  Can meet in west end around 4 if that works for you?

You know what?  That didnt work for me.  I was fuming.  The old me actually would have said yes, but, having decided to try listening to my intuition, I felt actually sick at the thought of agreeing to go.  What’s more, I didnt want to be someone’s Sunday arvo hangover afterthought.

I responded with “Perhaps we should leave it for another day when you are on top of your game.  Give me a call and we can work out when.”  (Yeah, go me!)

So he calls me a bit later, and the conversation starts with him recapping how wasted he was the night before (planned, it seems) and him commenting how he should probably grow up at 33 etc.

Finally, he apologises for mucking me around.  I couldn’t really say “that’s ok”, because it wasn’t, but I said, “yeah, well…”  He went on to explain, eventually saying that he thought he unconsciously sabotaged our meeting because (and I quote) “I’ve been really thinking about whether I wanted to see you again, and the answer is that I don’t.”

I KNOW!! I mean, what the?!? I didn’t see that coming either.  Yeah, TAM, thoughtless, insensitive, but not interested in seeing me again, after all that mushy fromage flavoured talk?

All my stunned brain could come up with at the time  was to ask why, and the best he could come up with (I suspect he hadn’t expected the question) was “You’re just not what I’m looking for“.

Well. I didn’t envision that the future Mr Sparkles would have calves the size of toothpicks and the chest of a 12 year old boy- but heck, I was willing to go out a couple more times to see if I could get past that- after all, love moves in small mysterious ways.

The conversation ended with him saying things he certainly didn’t mean, about seeing me round, catching up for coffee or on Facebook, and that he knew where to come if he ever needed horse-riding lessons.

My response? A luke warm “Hmmm” followed by… “Well, I know where NOT to go if I ever need a chiropractor….”

Learn from me ladies.  Don’t contact them, when they have a means of contacting you.  They love to chase, especially when the don’t have a fancy car as compensation.

Stay tuned for “Tina and Mr Average”.

About The Tina Sparkles Experience

Apparently, there are people who go traveling and just see things and nothing weird happens. I'm not one of those people....come on holiday with me and find out why!

2 Responses to “Tina and the Hobbit part 2- from Frodo to Gollum”

  1. Ms Sparkles, further to my text message to you expressing my utter disbelief and disgust in what The Hobbit did there, I’d like to use this comment section to express my utter disbelief and disgust in what The Hobbit did there. Quite positively unbelievable. In fact, if I were not a male myself, I’d order them all banished from the land.

  2. Tina, remember the saying – ‘Hung like a Hobbit’. There’s nothing in the shire for you. You need a Riding Rohan man to come sweep you off your feet! xx

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