Describe your Imperfect Date

In Miss Congeniality, Cheryl Fraiser is asked to describe her perfect date. She says, famously, ‘ I’d have to say April 25th. Because it’s not too hot, not too cold, all you need is a light jacket.’

I feel bad for Cheryl. It’s hard to describe your perfect date even when you don’t get confused between romantic occasions and actual days. I have no idea what my perfect date would be. Maybe something like shark-cage diving, so I could spend all my energy being rightly scared about that, rather than irrationally nervous about accidentally smudging my eyebrows.

What I can very easily do, however, is describe an imperfect date. Or recount some things that have happened to me recently on dates that have rendered them imperfect.

Disclaimer: I am not a perfect date. I often do things like show men pictures of my cat, (not a euphemism, my actual cat), vigorously test their banter limits and ask arguably too soon what their relationship is like with their father. But I do feel I am decent.

NB. I have also met some lovely men recently who have done lovely things. But they’re not nearly as entertaining to relate as the following:


Of course, he was eager to see me again. ‘It’s great when you meet someone you can actually communicate with, Tamar,’ he said. Pronouncing my name wrong.


The man who didn’t offer me a beer.

I was watching a film with a man when he went to get a beer out of the fridge. Just the one. He sat back down again, started drinking it, and then said to me, very reasonably, ‘sorry, I’m not being rude, it’s just – I only have one’.

I left fairly promptly after that, and took my vagina with me. ‘I’m not being rude,’ I said. ‘it’s just, I only have one’.

The man who monologued

I was having a coffee with a man who talked for approximately twenty three minutes about his childhood, political opinions and acting career before pausing to acknowledge that I was there. Ah great, I thought, he’s finally going to ask me a question. He sighed, touched my knee and said, ‘I really need a new bike’.
Of course, he was eager to see me again. ‘It’s great when you meet someone you can actually communicate with, Tamar,’ he said. Pronouncing my name wrong.

The man who was brutally honest

I’d had a first date with this man that had actually gone really well, but when he dropped me at the station my train wasn’t for another twenty minutes. It was dark and very cold. ‘That’s okay, don’t worry,’ I said. ‘You can head home’. This was obviously a test. ‘Is that okay?’ he said, frankly. ‘I can’t be bothered to wait that long’. As soon as he departed, I sat on the cold bench and laughed to myself. A lot...

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Tamar Broadbent

I’m a musical comedian living and gigging in London and all around the UK. I’m forever making cups of tea, letting them go cold, and then having to throw them away and make more cups of tea. It’s literally how I spend all my time. Doing that, and avoiding all the people trying to wink-murder me for bringing my keyboard on the train in peak time.