Goywonder

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On Saturday 19th September, Goy Wonder and Sophie MK met for a nerve-racking blind date.

In a revolutionary social experiment, they both agreed to write about their experiences.

Here are the the results:

 

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#1: Goy on Sophie

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“You really shouldn’t be doing this. This is not a good idea.”

All week my friends have been telling me not to go through with this.

Now my inner monologue has joined the protest.

Well, thanks for your concern, my trusty conscience – but it’s a little too late now.

In five minutes’ time, I’ll be meeting Sophie – my first blind date.

We’ve both agreed to meet up, see how it goes and – being wannabe confessional journos – write about the whole thing.

As I make my way across central London, my nerves are all over the place.

“What if she’s too tall for you?” they harp.

Those crafty beggars. They’ve really got me this time.

At 5”6 tall, I’ve always been conscious about my height.

Gripped by paranoia, my mental image of Sophie begins to shift.

All the sudden, she is a looming Amazonian goddess.

In my imagination I sit in her shadow, impish and nasal – like a dweeby Woody Allen sketch.

Finally, I manage to pull myself together – just minutes from my destination.

I take a deep breath and plunge through the pub doors.

Like a true Brit, I make a bee-line for the bar.

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I order a Diet Coke and wait for Sophie to join me.

Two minutes later, a smiling blonde girl bounds over towards me.

“Goy Wonder!” she exclaims, as she gives me a hug.

My first impressions of Sophie are overwhelmingly positive.

She has wild, kooky curls and gorgeous, vibrant eyes.

She’s stylish too – wearing spangled gold leggings and defiantly mismatched jewellery.

Imagine TV’s Kristen Schaal – who I’ve always fancied – doing a skit as Madonna and you’re pretty much there.

I’m impressed. Very impressed.

And – thank heavens – she’s also shorter than me. By at least half an inch.

Defeated, my neuroses skulk off back into their cave at the back of my mind.

For a second time, I throw my arms around her and kiss her enthusiastically on the cheek.

We grab a bottle of wine and head over to join her friends.

I greet each one of them, joking and flirting – as one always should – with anyone I possibly can.

As I gabber away, I look up to see Sophie watching me.

Our eyes meet. I keep mine there. She does the same.

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Spurred on by this, I beckon her over to join me on the sofa.

We chat away, highbrow but flirtatious.

As we talk, her conversation brims with verve and humour.

It’s the same charm that made me so keen to meet her. And it’s truly on show tonight.

I make a joke about David Cameron and – joy of joy – she laughs.

She’s laughed at my geeky joke. It’s the ultimate litmus test: she must be interested.

I decide to seize the moment and lean in for the kiss.

We kiss softly but briskly. It’s a quick flutter of passion – and a great sign for later on.

As I head over for my drinks, I rejoice to myself. I just can’t believe my luck.

I meet a girl from the internet and she turns out to be hot, trendy, cultured, intelligent and interested.

I mean what are the chances of that? Even Derren Brown would balk at those odds.

As I duck out towards the loo, I have to make a conscious effort to stop myself from grinning like an imbecile.

Still – at least I wouldn’t be the only one.

Inside the doorway, a beaming loo attendant stands at the sink.

He waves a bottle of Paul Smith aftershave in a front of my face.

It’s business as usual: a quick squirt of cologne for a cash tip.

“No, thank you,” I say, gesturing him away.

“Go on – you might get lucky,” he chuckles.

No deal, my shrewd, sharp-suited friend.

If I know one thing about lady luck, it’s that I must be in her favour tonight.

 j

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#2: Sophie on Goy

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A small ball of excitement came shooting out of the ether and wrapped its arms around me.

“Hello, I’m Goy Wonder,” said the now stationery ball.

“I’ve had a hell of a day. They wouldn’t let me inside Scientology and I had an argument on the steps of the Mosque. Let’s get some wine.”

We went back inside the Old Street pub I had came from and – before fulfilling his plan – we went over to my friends and he introduced himself.

“Hi, I’m Goy Wonder. I’m from the internet.” He worked the crowd, dynamically shaking hands wherever they appeared.

Once we were settled with a bottle of wine (he wanted to buy two), conversation began a flowin’.

Goy Wonder was extremely tactile – a technique he has learned from Neil Strauss’ The Game – and hit the ground running with my friends.

When he went to the toilet, my friends – in the manner of a Greek chorus – swung round to me.

“Sooooo,” said this multi-headed beast.

“Hmmm?” I played it cool.

“He likes you.”

“Oh whatever.”

“He came to London to see you.”

“No, he was coming anyway!”

“Are you on it?”

“No.”

“Whyyy? He’s funny, he’s good-looking and he’s got right in with your friends.”

“Ssssshhhhh” said someone as GW was spotted moving towards us at a fair pace.

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Sometime after, Goy Wonder and I ended up sitting cheek to cheek.

I’m not usually good at telling when I’m being hit on but GW’s method of holding your hand and touching your thigh is an excellent displacer of confusion.

His next move, however, was even clearer.

I was discussing something when all of a sudden GW kissed me.

Afterwards he said – as if driven by the functional desire to quieten me down. – “you were talking a bit loudly”

 Haha.

I was amused and flattered but explained – as our group moved through the pouring rain towards Hackney – that I’m not interested in casual relationships.

I say explained but what I did was spit out a few loosely connected sentences.

This is still an upgrade from expressive noises which are my usual way of communicating on such subjects.

GW took all this in his stride and won extra points for being the only person not to curse my existence when I took us mildly in the wrong direction on the way to The Nelson. 

All was cool. All was too cool.

A hairy moment was due and sure enough, at our new destination, it came.

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 ”Are you a Zionist?” asked a friend innocently.

“Yes,” responded the Goy, oblivious that he was sitting like a sacrificial lamb next to Dan.

Dan campaigns against the Israeli occupation of Gaza with more passion than can be found in a whole chest of Mills & Boon.

What followed is a blur in which Dan appeared to be roaring and GW did a lot of gesticulating with his hands.

Two female friends and I began to discuss doilies and home-cooking to keep the intense/soothing balance of the world intact.

Getting home afterwards from East London to South London whilst the rain came down in torrents was long and poor GW appeared to be flagging.

However, the fact that he had a pack of bagels on his person went down very well with my hungry friends.

And there was still a bit of chutzpah left in the tank.

As I arranged a duvet and the sofa to make it comfortable, Goy Wonder (at this point only in his boxers) asked casually:

“Can I sleep in your bed?”

“With me?” I asked, briefly wondering whether he wanted to swap.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Fair enough,” he grinned, “you can’t blame me for trying.”

I certainly didn’t and if I hadn’t recently sworn off casual sex, this story might have ended very differently.

Even without coitus it was a pleasure.

Amusing, generous, intelligent – if a little politically challenged – the Goy Wonder experience is one to be recommended.

 h

k