If you’ve ever read this blog before you’ll know that I love Tindering when I’m travelling. Dating is mega fun and I really bloody enjoy it. Most of the time. Sometimes though, dates are awful. The person you’re meeting might have catfished you with an old photo, or they might not have good chat. Or, one of you might piss yourself. Here’s the tale of my most embarrassing date ever.
I’ve had some pretty significant issues with my bladder since I arrived in Mexico, which has resulted in a grand total of seven visits to the doctor in just over two months. My problem also had me confined to my house for fear of losing control of my damaged bladder in public. During my first week in Mexico City, I could hardly go outside, and when you’ve just arrived in a new city that’s hardly ideal. So, I did what any sensible grown-up would do and thought fuck it. I decided to gamble on my body not letting me down and headed out on a date.
I decided to take the risk with Rob, a giant tattooed Romanian man (mmm tall hipsters). We decided on a Saturday lunch date and agreed to meet at a fish taco joint. In an effort to stave off my constant need to pee I went on a liquid ban the morning of the date. And, by the time we met and I clocked eyes on him I was thirsty in more ways than one. After the initial obligatory awkwardness, we settled into a relaxed and familiar conversation, chatting about our European upbringings and our mutual love of Latin America. I relaxed so much, in fact, that I ordered a beer.
Rookie error.
Obviously, as soon as that beer passed my lips I needed to go to the loo. Desperately. So I asked the waitress, “dónde está el baño.” her reply will haunt me forever: the toilets were out of order due to the water shortage Mexico City was experiencing.
Quick back story: Mexico City shut off the water for repairs to be made for over a week at the end of October. That meant washing with buckets of water and finding inventive ways of ‘flushing’ the toilet. I’d forgotten all about it since my house hadn’t really been affected.
Bugger. My body was now a ticking time bomb. I knew I had a matter of minutes to find a working bathroom. Or else. So, I faced the incredibly awkward situation of telling a man I’d just met that I had a nasty bladder infection and that if he didn’t help me find a toilet in the next five minutes we were going to have a serious issue. Dude didn’t seem that bothered about my plight though, and casually finished his beer while thinking about where we could go.
By the time I’d managed to get him out of the taco joint, I was panicking. The pain in my stomach was making me sweat, and for a huge man with super long legs I’ve never seen anyone walk as slow. I actually lost my temper at one point and told him exactly that. Smooth move, shouting at a guy on a first date, huh?
Finally, we made it to a bar and I achieved my mission of not pissing in the street. I apologised when I was back at the table, but it was clear that he had lost all interest in me. And who could blame him, I was an angry, infected stranger who just yelled at him in the street. Props to him for not ditching me while I was in the bathroom. Sadly, he’d ordered two more beers and against my better judgment (and wanting to avoid annoying him further) I drank my cerveza like a good girl.
Once our beers were done we both made our excuses to leave what had become an uncomfortable date for everyone involved. I was a ten-minute walk from home and broke into a full sprint, as I knew my bladder was incapable of cooperating now that I’d stupidly poured two beers into it.
Did I make it home in time? Well, I won’t go into detail but let’s just say I was forced to do laundry that afternoon. After that trauma, I didn’t go out again for several days, other than to see yet another doctor.
Update: since I wrote this, I’ve actually been on a date that ended even worse than this one. I’ll tell you about it shortly.
