Pass me the serviettes.

I met with an online date recently who asked to see my privates. We were sitting in the front seat of his (insert major Telecomms Co.) station wagon – I knew this as it was emblazoned unashamedly on the side. I hesitated for long enough to consider what a humorous proposition it was. Here was I, a middle aged mother of two young children considering flashing the middle aged contents of my frilly knickers, all before the bell had struck for lunch at my son’s primary school.

And yet I felt for this tall, handsome dysfunctional telecommunications worker who had lured me across town for nothing more than to see an extreme ‘what the’ appear across my recently artificially tanned face (I knew I resembled the ginger bread man but I digress) when all he actually wanted to do was to invite me to the fascinating puppet show that was appearing in his lap. It was the car crash I had to watch, I just wasn’t sure whether I’d end up in the wreck.

I’m sorry, why did someone not tell me I had the words ‘please oh please can I sit in the front seat of your car and watch you reconnect with a twitching pubescent bathroom moment’ written across my chest. My sunglasses shielded my transfixed expression while I glanced about at young families, consumed with their ice creams strolling past the car.

At no stage did I feel in danger but sorry later that I didn’t perhaps suggest my friend modify somewhat his first date repartee to include vanilla scented candles and a bunch of flowers. It may also have been polite to advise that said friend save such behaviour for his own time but clearly the point would’ve been lost on him. What the hell did the second date entail, a kiss? Should’ve I had brought along my DS Lite?

Who was I to question why he saved up his kids junior meal deal serviettes, stashed secretly under his seat. I wanted to learn more about my friend. What drove him to this corner of his mind and how many other people were parked there? How weird does it get out there in newby online dating land? And when you get a whole bunch of supposedly sexually explorative people together, is the weirdest one the winner? Is it all failing upwards and once you’ve tried one thing you’re onto another without the blink of an eye?

When in my pre-children twenties and thirties I didn’t have the confidence in my attractively shaped body to enjoy it and as many men and women will testify insecurities can be a massive sexual dampener. Now I’m in my early forties, I haven’t seen my pubes since my last cesarean section, have stretch marks and battle scars that look like I’ve recently recovered from a mild flesh eating disease but have never felt sexier. Not fair is it really?

After twenty years encompassing three stable relationships, I’d been off the dating scene for what felt like an eternity. Getting to know people online has been a fascinating experience and funnily most men I’ve seen have all said they don’t smoke and actually do. Thank goodness I said the same and also was a closet smoker, although we are all trying to stop. I’m learning slowly that my idea of weird, dysfunctional and ‘oh my god are you kidding?’ is slightly outdated. Don’t get me wrong, I’m looking for love, aren’t we all? But my curiosity towards the weird, which possibly isn’t actually weird depending on who you are, has been thumped awake.