My worst date in London so far

Two of my best friends are getting married to each other this summer. I'm really excited for them. Also, I get to be one of the maids-of-honour!

Now, both of them are well aware of my trials and tribulations, despite my moving so far away. The groom-to-be, in particular, loves to hear stories of my bad dates. His favourite so far has been the one about the worst date I have been on in London*, where the guy involved will henceforth be known as "WDIL".

This date occurred last summer. I'll just summarise the key highlights.

While we were having drinks at the first of many bars we would visit that night, WDIL, apropos of nothing, asks, "Have you ever been married?" I answered in the negative, and, after a brief pause, having learnt that people don't usually ask such questions unless that is something that needs to be asked right back at them, asked, "So, have you ever been married?"

WDIL: Yes.
Me: Are you still married?
WDIL: Is that the kind of guy you go for?
Me: No. Please answer the question.
WDIL: No.

Then, a bit later, I asked when said marriage occurred and why. His response, "Well, a decade ago when I was in my thirties, I thought it was a good idea at the time."

Jeepers. At that point, I nearly did a spit-take. The guy had a beard and all, and I honestly thought he was in his mid-thirties. But... forties? A guy that much older than I was? So not my kind of guy at all.

At another bar, when I was on my third espresso martini, and he was trying one out for the first time, this happened.

WDIL: Whoa, I'm definitely getting a bit of a buzz. I'm feeling frisky. Are you feeling frisky?
Me: Er... no. I'm just buzzed, really. That's all.

I'm not sure what anyone else thinks, but, for me, and certainly my friends, we associate 'frisky' with pet food. I just don't think cute fluffy kittens and puppies work very well at putting anyone in the mood. Maybe that's just me.

And, also, this guy, he's Scottish. So it came out more as "frrrrriskay". Then he followed it up with this:

WDIL: Well, I'm feeling frisky. What do you want to do now? Do you want to go back to your place? Come back to mine?
My head: Oh dear Lord, he is not serious. How on earth can he be in his forties and still be so bad at this? Also, it's 10.15! It's still so early.

I'm not going to go into the rest of the date. Suffice it to say that I went back to mine, and he was dispatched back to his.

What exactly is the point of this story? Simple. I love the groom-to-be to bits, so much so that I actually offered to go on another date with this guy and bring along a camera this time so he could watch the whole thing for his entertainment.

What better wedding present could I offer than one of complete and abject humiliation just for my best friends' entertainment? Right?

Before you start to wonder just exactly what kind of maid-of-honour I am, I'm also handling the music and am organising both hen and stag parties. I'm really not that self-absorbed!

* And yes, there is a worst date ever which hasn't quite been matched yet.