The Drought (The hilarious laugh-out loud comedy about dating disasters!)

by Steven Scaffardi

  Even the layouts of these shops are designed to trip us up, like some sort of assault course which has been put together specifically for women. While the gaps in between the rails of clothes are big enough for the female physique to glide in and out of, we are left to clumsily follow, knocking clothes off rails with great frequency. Then we have the questions.

  What do I look like in this?

  “You look nice” is the wrong answer. “You look good” is the wrong answer. “You look okay” is definitely the wrong answer. You might as well get Roy Walker to follow you around and every time you answer this question he can jump in with “It’s good, but it’s not right.” If she wanted us to respond with “amazing” or “fantastic” then she should hold up a Brazilian football shirt signed by Pelé and his 1970 World Cup winning team-mates. This is the only item of clothing we will ever get excited about.

  Which one do you prefer?

  Hmm, let me think. I don’t care! Just pick that one, pick any of them! This question is designed to catch you out. On the outside it might look like a simple 50/50 question, but despite the flip-of-a-coin odds, you will never get this question right. Whichever one you choose will be met by the same response: “Really? I prefer this one.” If you have already made up your mind, don’t ask us.

  Do you think these shoes will go with this dress?

  Let’s get one thing straight here. Most guys will own a maximum of three pairs of shoes at any one time. So how does that make us even remotely qualified to choose which pair of shoes – out of the dozens upon dozens of pairs you have made us look at already – will look good with your dress?

  Even when she eventually decides she likes something, the torture doesn’t end. Now they have to try everything on. Whose bright idea was it to put the changing rooms bang in the middle of the lingerie department? Groups of men are forced to awkwardly stand around, trying their best not to look like pervs. The problem is, the more you try to look like you are not hanging around sniffing women’s underwear, the more paranoid you become that everyone thinks that is exactly what you are doing. It doesn’t help that the queue for the ladies changing rooms is normally a mile long. Don’t be surprised either if after hanging around in the underwear section for 15 minutes trying not to look like a nonce, your girlfriend suddenly returns having not even tried the clothes on.

  I like it but I don’t really need it.

  Why the hell did you queue up if you were never going to buy it? Of course, you can’t say that. So you put up with the other pointless questions, which you neither have the answers to, nor really care about. Questions like “Do you think I can pull this off?” or “does this match my skin tone?”

  With Stacey I used to just smile and nod, safe in the knowledge shops have to close at some point and I might make it home before dark if I’m lucky.

  Some guys try to come up with a different strategy, but I can tell you for a fact that nothing you try will make the experience of shopping with your girlfriend any less painful. For example, the worst thing you can do is say that you are going off to the men’s section. You may think this will kill a bit of time, but after you have scanned everything you wanted to see in five minutes flat, you will return to the women’s section only to find that your girlfriend is nowhere in sight. Now the hunt begins, and if history tells us anything, we know that it will be a good 20 minutes at least before you manage to locate her. There is an old campfire horror tale about a guy who has been wandering around Top Shop for the last five months after letting his girlfriend out of his sight.

  I really didn’t want to start hunting for Kelly so I pulled my mobile out to call her. “Dan, over here!” I heard her call out and turned round to see her standing about 10 yards away, a big grin on her face. “I have been following you around for ages.”

  “Please, get me out of here,” I begged her.

  “Come on,” and she took me by the arm and led me out of my misery.

  We strolled along Oxford Street, her arm linked under mine. “Your face was a picture when I found you,” Kelly giggled. “It looked as though you might spontaneously combust if you had stayed there any longer.”

  “You are not far wrong,” I said. “These places should come with a warning sign, or at least a designated area for all boyfriends and husbands, like a bar in the basement or something.”

  “What are you talking about?” she asked with a smile.

  “They should have special men-only members clubs in all female retail outlets. They would make a killing. Men would be queuing round the block to sign up. We’d gladly pay a yearly membership fee.”

  “So what would be in this members club?”

  “They could stock it out with table football, big screen TV’s, pool tables, Space Invader arcade machines. Free counselling sessions should be offered to all the men who have suffered identical shopping scenarios, so we could sit together and commiserate as we relive our horror stories while the women shopped until their hearts content.”

  Kelly burst out laughing. “I can’t believe how much you hate shopping.”

  “It’s not that I hate shopping, I just don’t understand the way a girl shops. It takes you guys about seven hours to finally decide to buy the first thing you saw at the start of the day.”

  “Oh really?” Kelly said, raising her eyebrows at me. “Seeing as you think you can find the perfect present in record time, let’s put it to the test today.”

  “Challenge accepted,” I said. “I just need one or two details. What is Paul into?”

  “Let me see,” she pondered. “He loves his sport, and is really into boxing. Rocky is his favourite film of all time.”

  “This is going to be too easy,” I said. “Come on, follow me.” I directed us away from Oxford Street down Argyll Street. A quick left on to Great Marlborough Street, and then we took a right to cut through on to Carnaby Street.

  “Where are we going?” Kelly asked.

  “Patience, we are nearly there,” and we arrived at a small shop on the corner of Carnaby Street and Beak Street called King of the Jungle. This place prided itself on having Original Gifts for the Lion in Your Life.

  “What is this place?” Kelly asked as we walked in.

  “Are you kidding me? This is probably the best shop in the whole of London,” I told her. It was the type of shop you wouldn’t find on any high street, yet it was full of little hidden gems. One side was full of football memorabilia, with framed photographs signed by some of the best players in the world, past and present. Next to that was a selection of gadgets and boys’ toys, like icy beer mugs, remote controlled cars, and an alarm clock with a small pole dancer figurine that would wake you up every morning with your very own lap dance. The back wall featured a selection of T-shirts with witty slogans.

  But what I was looking for was in the film memorabilia section. Here you could find talking Tony Montana toys, a Goodfellas poster signed by the complete cast, and framed film cells from The Godfather. I resisted the temptation to start playing with the Al Pacino Scarface doll, and picked up a black luxury bathrobe with gold trim.

  “A dressing gown?” Kelly asked with a bewildered look on her face as if I had gone crazy. “You brought me to this place to buy a dressing gown?”

  “Yes, but not just any dressing gown,” I said and turned the robe around to reveal the Italian Stallion motif and logo on the back. “This is Rocky Balboa’s dressing gown.”

  She looked it up and down. “Are you sure he will like it?”

  “Trust me, he will love it” I reassured her. “If he doesn’t then I promise I will go shopping with you every weekend for the next six months. If Stacey had bought me this when we were together, we probably would have never broken up.”

  I handed her the robe and she took one more look, before she turned to me smiling, and said, “I’ll get it! But it will be on your head if he dumps me for buying him a dressing gown for his birthday.”

  Kelly paid for the robe and had to practically drag me away f
rom the gadgets in the corner. We made our way back up to Oxford Circus to get the Tube home.

  “Why don’t you come to Paul’s birthday party next week?” Kelly asked as we got back on the Victoria Line and sat down. “You can bring your friends with you.”

  “Yeah, why not? I could do with a good night out.”

  “Thanks for helping me with this, Dan,” Kelly said and kissed me on the cheek. “You’ve gone all red,” she teased.

  Chapter 21: Paul’s Birthday

  Saturday, August 8, 2009 - 8.31pm

  Drought Clock: 218 days, 19 hours, 6 minutes

  “So what are the girls going to be like at this party?” Jack asked as we made our way to Mojo Bar in Soho where Kelly’s boyfriend Paul was throwing his birthday bash. “They’d better be fit, Dan, because there are rules about taking your mates to parties where the room is full of facially-challenged women.”

  “I have no idea what the girls are going to be like, mate,” I told him. “This is Paul’s party, but I’m sure they’ll be enough girls there for you. Just don’t try pulling any of his relatives.”

  “Like his mum, you mean?” Rob joked. “Because you would never try to pull someone’s mum would you Dan?”

  “Or their little sister,” Ollie added.

  “Piss off,” I bluntly replied, not wanting to be reminded of my own personal nightmare with Dave’s relatives back on Valentine’s Day.

  “All I’m saying is that if we enter this place and all I can see is a bunch of ropey old tarts, I am going to turn straight around and walk out,” Jack said just to drive his point home. “Taking us to a place like that is a bit like an uneducated midget – it’s not big and it’s not clever.”

  “Bit like you then Jack,” Ollie said, lifting Jack up off his feet and carrying him about 10 yards down the road before Jack managed to wriggle free, his little legs kicking thin air.

  “Get your hands off me, Lurch. Don’t make me slap you,” Jack said as he tugged his shirt back into place. “Seriously, Dan, I’ve been practising for tonight.”

  “Practising?” Rob asked.

  “Oh yeah, I’ve got all my best lines prepared. Tonight the ladies had better be ready for the Jack Hammer.”

  “I really hope that isn’t one of your lines,” I commented.

  We arrived and made our way to the downstairs bar Paul had hired for the evening. It was a cool and stylish venue, with black leather seats around the side, and electric blue lights to give the place a funky ambience. House music thumped over the speakers, and the bar staff served an array of multi-coloured cocktails. It was just starting to get busy and I could tell by the way Jack had his tongue almost hanging out of his mouth that he was happy with the talent.

  In a sea of unfamiliar faces, I saw Kelly, but I nearly didn’t recognise her. She was wearing a gold sequin dress which plunged at the neckline. She had straightened her hair, and wore a straight fringe cut just above her eyes, with her long brown hair flowing down past her shoulders. Her legs looked long and toned. She waved after spotting me and started heading in my direction. Jack had obviously noticed her as well and was tugging at my shirt. “Introduce me,” he said out the corner of his mouth.

  “I’m so pleased you came,” Kelly said and threw her arms around me.

  “You look fantastic,” I said, a little surprised.

  “Paul loved his present. I can’t thank you enough.”

  “What did I tell you?” I replied, but felt a sharp pain on my shin from Jack’s kick. “Kelly, these are my friends,” and I introduced the boys.

  “I have to dash and play hostess, but I promise I’ll come over later and we can talk properly,” and she made her way back into the crowd.

  “Make sure you bring some friends over,” Jack shouted out to her. “Come on, Ollie, help me get the drinks in.”

  Rob sided up next to me as Ollie and Jack made their way to the bar. I was still watching Kelly move through the crowd. “You kept her quiet, mate,” Rob said. “She is gorgeous. Have you ever suggested some out of work activity with her?”

  “Of course I haven’t, she’s just a friend,” I told him. I had never looked at Kelly in that way. Besides she has a boyfriend. “She’s not my type,” I said, and Rob shrugged at me.

  But who was I kidding? I was so sex starved at that moment in time I would have fancied the creature from the black lagoon if it had turned up in gold sequins.

  “Kelly is cool, but it’s never going to happen. It just wouldn’t be professional,” I offered pathetically as a reason, but I started to wonder if I was trying to convince Rob or myself. It had now been seven months since, well, you know what. And now looking at Kelly dressed up in gold sequins with legs that went on forever, I could be forgiven for looking longer than I probably should look at a friend.

  “It wouldn’t be professional?” Rob laughed at me. “Okay, perhaps I’m wrong,” Rob said taking his drink from Jack who had returned with Ollie with the first round of the night. “In which case, you won’t mind if I try tucking in then?”

  “No way, you leave her alone. We’re at her boyfriend’s birthday party for crying out loud.” I knew he was trying to wind me up, but I still took the bait.

  “Who are we talking about?” Jack asked. That’s all I needed – Jack chipping in as well.

  “I reckon Dan likes golden girl over there a little more than he is letting on,” Rob explained to the other two.

  “Oh yeah, that little treacle is absolute. I’d be all over it like a rash if I were you, mate,” Jack advised me.

  “Me too,” Ollie put his two pennies in.

  “No, you would give her the rash,” Jack remarked.

  “Can we stop talking about her like this,” I said. “There are plenty of other girls here for you lot to leer and letch over.”

  And it was true. The room was full of gorgeous girls. “This room is making me bad,” Jack said, his eyes darting all over the place. “Check out that little splitarse over there.”

  The splitarse in question was a petite Chinese girl with long black hair, wearing a white embroidered blouse, tight dark jeans, and knee-high grey suede boots. She looked a picture of innocence with her big white angelic smile. She noticed us all staring at her and flashed a coy grin in our direction before looking away.

  “Look at her,” Jack said. “Look at her! Ask me if I would cheat. Go on, ask me if I would cheat,” he was pulling at my arm.

  “Okay, okay,” I said shrugging him off me. “Would you cheat?”

  “In a heartbeat,” Jack said taking a big swig of his drink. “Watch and learn boys, especially you, Dan. You might pick up a few tips.” And with that he marched over, bold as brass.

  “I bet he strikes out,” Ollie said as Jack went over and introduced himself.

  “I’d like to say I agree with you, but she hasn’t given him the brush off yet,” Rob said looking at his watch. “I make that six seconds without her slapping him. A personal best for Jack by my records.”

  “She even seems to be enjoying herself,” I motioned towards the fact that she was smiling.

  “My money is still on him screwing it up,” Ollie was adamant. We all sipped at our pints and watched. Within seconds her smile switched to a scowl and with sharp precision, she swung and landed a stinging slap across Jack’s left cheek. It was loud enough to make anyone within a 10-yard radius in a crowded noisy bar turn around. Jack simply nodded and raised his hands, before strolling nonchalantly back towards us.

  We all gawked at him, waiting for an explanation, but he simply took a swig of his pint, and even raised his glass to a stranger as they walked past.

  “Well?” Rob finally said.

  “Well what?” Jack replied, as if nothing had happened despite the big red hand mark on his cheek.

  “What happened?”

  “Oh that. It was nothing.”

  “Something must have happened,” I challenged. “What did you say?”

  “I told you, nothing,” Jack paused again t
o take another mouthful of lager. “I was just telling her that I thought she dressed very well.”

  “And?” Rob said.

  “And I suggested something I thought would look good on her?”

  “And?” we all said in unison, growing impatient.

  Jack took another drink from his pint. “I told her that I thought I would look good on her.”

  Laughing, we all sighed and shook our heads disapprovingly. “When will you learn?” Rob asked him.

  “Hey, it’s not my fault the girl is frigid,” Jack said, and we all raised our eyebrows at him. “She must be a lesbian.”

  “You’re so full of shit,” Ollie said laughing. “I knew your stupid one-liners wouldn’t work on girls in a place like this.”

  “Oh really?” Jack said, putting his drink down on the table and rubbing his hands together. “You willing to put a little wager on that?”

  “I’ll have some of that,” I said.

  And so begun the great chat-up challenge of 2009. The rules were simple: Jack had to avoid being shunned and get a phone number from just one girl using his array of one-liners to win £45. We had all bet £15 against his tenner, which meant if he lost he would have to shell out £30.

  “Easy money,” Jack disposed of the remainder of his pint and set off to work his magic. For the next 20 minutes, we watched as Jack worked his way through his jukebox of cheesy chat-up lines to a varied selection of responses:

  Jack: Why don't we go back to my place and do the things I'm going to tell people we did anyway?

  Blonde Girl: Piss off, creep.

  Jack: What is a nice girl like you doing in a dirty mind like mine?

  Short-haired girl: I don’t know, but if you don’t get me out, I’ll punch my way out.

  Jack: (Licks his finger and then touches the girl's clothing) Let's get you out of those wet clothes.

  Brunette: Touch me again and I’ll break your arm

  Jack: The word of the day is “legs.” Let's go back to my place and spread the word.