Mr Goujon

Mr. Goujon

So the other day I was at a bar. Don’t judge my precious. Bars don’t necessarily mean I was drinking.

Prosecco in hand I meandered over to two guys and asked the less hot one to take a picture of us with my phone. Let’s just say that yes I am due an upgrade 3 months ago and I got a lot of ribbing about my battered white blackberry. When I saw the photos I told him a bad work men always blames his tools. I mean those photos made me look chubby and drunk!

So later I call the guys over to join us and Mr Goujon starts a flirt offensive. I’m ambivalent as I actually fancied the other one but after a text conversation with my girl she was already all over that so I’m wing woman with this guy who is alright in a 2nd best kind of way. The other one screamed hot sex.  Hold on, I need a moment.







Ok I’m back. A good while passes and there is no mention of a partner until I hear hot sex guy say something about Goujon being married? I didn’t see a ring.  So I ask him.

Looking sheepish he admits that he’s getting married … 2 weeks! WTF is wrong with people? He’s flirting like he’s not got a care in the world. He tells me that his son is close to my age and I’m like, hook a girl up. (I know my precious, no shame. I blame the fish goujons.)But sadly his son has a partner and get this, kids. So I’m actually talking to a granddad. Eish! Black don’t crack.

Like my fish goujon he looked better on the menu than he tasted and yet I was still eating them. There is something slightly moreish about useless food and useless men. Useless as in they are of no really use to me and my dating plan.

So my point is simple. There has to be some sort of etiquette for engaged men flirting in bars with us single women. Surely they should have to wear an engagement ring too? Or at least not be allowed out unsupervised. Come on ladies sort your men out and let me know so that I can add it to the MANifesto.  Time Wasters must be dealt with.

Needless to say he’s a lovely guy, checks that I get home safely but…. a little too slow in qualifying his status.  And he lives in the depths of South London. It would never have worked. But, it’s a sad time when you go home thinking, that’s two hours of my life I’ll never get back and why didn’t I order some fish goujons to go?

To fish goujons!

© Chelsea Black

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