Little Girl In a Big City

Hey dolls, the other day  I decided to start my weekly Monday column (I did intend on posting this yesterday): ‘Little Girl In a Big City.’ I have always thought it would be exciting to write for a publication, such as ‘The New Yorker,’ on a regular basis since my first viewings of ‘Sex In the City.’ Carrie Bradshaw inspired my love of fashion and secured my fate of becoming a fashion journalist, so it only seems fitting I take a leaf out of her book and begin my path down the columnist road.
A friend once spoke about the lack of romance in today’s society; she even went as far as to devote her week’s column to the subject. With references to ‘When Harry Met Sally’ and the iconic dating experiences of her past, she took pursuit on her ramble. I don’t want to seem to be copying her content, but a recent experience makes me feel as though I should retell it to you all.
There are a few out there that still believe in romance, that one day our prince charming will coming riding round on his horse and sweep us off our feet. I was one of those girls. Who doesn’t want to be treated like a princess and have someone be in total adoration of you? The answer is everybody.
I was never the girl at school to always have a boyfriend; I left that to the other girls in the year. Having said that I wasn’t a hermit either, there were guys I liked, relationships had, but no one was my prince charming. It always seems the case that when you’re single you see numerous couples on ‘first-dates,’ looking in complete infatuation with one another. Why? They have only known each other, on average a few days. Yet, they sit across the table to one another, gazing deeply into each other’s eyes, holding hands and sharing a plate of pasta. All rather cliché to me, but secretly every girl wants that (even if they say they don’t).
I’ll set the scene, it was about a month ago, there was a large party of us and we had hit the streets of Southampton for our fresher’s ‘Big Night Out.’ This basically consisted of drunken university goers drinking far more they should, in hope of acquiring new friends and having an amazing night. We’d caused havoc in five pubs prior before reaching the penultimate destination: Vanity. Another ‘party goer,’ who asked for my number - standard occurrence, approached me. No matter who you are, every guy seems to be looking to get a girls’ number, the more they get the more ‘lad points’ they attain. Alcohol seems to fuel the ego of even the most unblessed people of the world. However, he (Daniel for arguments sake), wasn’t that bad looking, not my type, but okay none-the-less.
I am starting to sound like an utter bitch ‘not bad looking,’ ‘okay,’ but most people of the female race have an ideal image in their mind of what they want their guys to look like, mine being: tall, dark, preferably foreign and very handsome – And there I was not advocating cliché.
I spoke to Daniel for litter under an hour, before we both went our separate ways. We continued speak over the coming weeks, texting frequently and he’d become a friend, nothing more, nothing less. That was until he asked me out on a date, a date with me, someone extremely cynical and questions the motifs behind people doing nice things. Although I didn’t want to go, forced by peers, meant I had agreed to meet him outside a restaurant on Thursday. It sounds silly, but I got those pre-date nerves and an excitement – could he be my prince charming?
Everything started well; Daniel bought me a glass of wine and himself a beer. We chatted like we had been doing via text, however, this time the topic seemed to be more on him. At first, I thought nothing of it, maybe he’s just nervous and doesn’t know what to talk about – it happens to the best of us, but it continued. He began making jokes, which centred on him, which only he would found funny. After laughing out loud, and I mean really loud, so much so we had an audience of on-lookers, he proceeded to mock girls who fancy reality T.V stars – excuse me, but I am one of those girls – Hi Hugo and Spencer if you’re reading this, call me.
Don’t get me wrong, I like a guy who is funny and makes the odd joke, but after putting on a little theatrical show featuring impressions of a variety of things: screaming girls, what he looks like when he is hungry (I know weird right), him catching a cricket ball, how he eats pizza. . .  I could go on, but I am cringing as I recall the moment, I felt as though the restaurant staff were staring me at. I believe he learnt nothing about me, but I could probably tell you anything you needed to know about him, I was actually listening – God knows why.
We’d finished our drinks and he offered me the menu to look at, aww maybe he was trying to redeem himself. He asked what I wanted to drink and being the good girl that I am I replied: ‘I actually okay thank you, I shouldn’t drink too much, as I have work tomorrow.’ I was trying to wrap things up so I could go home and share the experience with my flatmate, but was willing to stay if he wanted another drink, after he had been so sweet to offer me another. But no, he replied with: ‘I wasn’t going to buy you another drink, count yourself lucky I bought you the first drink. If you wanted another you can buy it yourself.’ Oh, how gentlemanly of you, please do take me on another date. I had had enough, I quickly made my excuses and left.
If romance does still exist, please let me know – as I haven’t found any sign of it yet. 


  1. Sounded like a disaster date - far from prince charming! I can't stand loud people whose "show must go on"... I think that only shows uncertainty.

    Well written, keep these coming up! :)

  2. Oh my goodness. Experiences like that make it hard to believe in romance and true love and fairy tales. Sigh, how utterly depressing.

  3. carrie bradshaw inspired me as well haha, if only she was real. great post :) xx


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Aimee xxx