Dating Fails

21 is a young and tender age. And they say that your youth is when you should try new things, make mistakes and learn from your faults. Well, some mistakes are so stupid that you just shouldn’t do them in the first place. So, in order to make your life a little easier, here are some small anecdotes of failed dating attempts. From boob-trauma to A&E to a vomit-sprinkler, you should just never do these things.

Don’t stuff your bra

The classic mistake – made by many and regretted by almost all. There I was, age 15, wearing a New Look wrap-dress and trying to make my boobs look as great as possible. It was really wholly unnecessary when you consider that I’d known the guy for 10 years. 10 years that had consisted of swimming lessons, football matches and a lot of conversations where his words had been directed straight to the cleavage. Nonetheless, I filled the bottom of my bra with Andrex and left the house feeling like a new woman.

After two hours of the date (which was held in the local park and consisted of sitting in a field), he went in for the kiss – it was a strong move and you really can’t knock the guys confidence. But then he got cocky and went straight for the under-the-bra boob grab. I wasn’t expecting it – I had no time to stop him and before I knew it toilet paper streamers were flying through the air. Leaving me with one perky boob, one that was now a little deflated and a boy who didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

He told everyone and I cried a little bit.

Guys, penis-padding probably won’t get you very far either.

Don’t pretend that you can cook

I was on the receiving end of this one – a story that ends in a nearly burnt-down apartment, a trip to A&E and, shockingly, no dinner.

When your boyfriend, who considers Nando’s to be a fine dining experience (NOTE: Nando’s is possibly my favourite thing ever, but sometimes Peri-Peri just lacks that romantic edge) offers to cook for you, you naturally accept the offer.

He ran me a bath and told me to relax whilst he worked away in the kitchen. After an hour-long bath I went to see how he was getting on. I found him swearing at a frying pan and trying to cut potatoes into chips. My walking into the room was clearly too much and as he looked up his knife went down – straight through the end of his finger.

After two hours in the A&E waiting room, bloodstained clothes and numerous stitches we headed home. Only to find that we had left the oven on and a small, yet potential-filled oven fire had started in our kitchen.

It wasn’t romantic, my boyfriend felt like a plonker and we ended up eating Crunchy Nut out of the packet.

Do NOT try and go drink-for-drink if you can’t handle it

I celebrated my 21^st birthday in America. The past 10 months had been a careful dance of sneaking drinks on the dance floor and meticulously calculating the alcohol that was being consumed. But surprisingly this story didn’t occur on the night that the alcohol was being drunk by the gallon, this is all about the morning after.

The night was (obviously) filled to the brim with bad decisions, awful singing and some really, really questionable dancing. The first bad decision being that I boldly agreed to the challenge of drinking every time my boyfriend and his friends did. But the night was nothing compared to the morning after. My boyfriend offered me water, helped me lift my still-painted face from the pillow, he politely refrained from shouting “ew” when he put his hand in my sleep-drool and announced that he was taking me for breakfast.

We got back in the car after breakfast. I felt fine. I risked singing. I wasn’t fine. Just as I hit the high note at the end of Defying Gravity – fists clenched and eyes closed – it happened. I didn’t know it was coming until it was too late. I was still finishing the note when the vomit shot from my mouth. It was unstoppable. Like a tube train at least 10 carriages long.

I covered my mouth with my hands. Now, if there is one tip that I can give you in life it’s this: NEVER put your hands over your mouth while projectile vomiting. It found it’s way through the gaps in my fingers and took the entire width of the car. Imagine, if you will, a vomit sprinkler. That was me.