Dating story: The Accountant

The Accountant and I encountered each other on the slightly more classy than most app: Elite Singles.

The Accountant (or TA to just use a label) lived in Stroud, just a briefish trip down the A40 from where I was living that year.

TAs profile was impressive: A partner in a national practice, having career and non-work fun in equal measures, cars, sailing and travel, yet books and films too.

And a dribble-worthy head and shoulders photo against a drop-dead gorgeous sun-sea-sand backdrop.

I may have actually dribbled.

There were nice, chatty emails.

We moved to the phone and TA was…

Well…

A bit of an Accountant.

I looked for the promised fun side of TA but it wasn’t forthcoming in that call.

Or the one after.

But hey, whatevs, let’s give TA a go, I thought.

I upped my game for the date.

I made sure that when I left the house I had done every conceivable thing to make yours truly look more than average.

When I checked myself in the mirror I thought I looked doable.

We met at a pub in the gorgeous Gloucestershire countryside, on a stunning summer evening.

TA was prompt.

And TA was Absolutely Gorgeous.

I may have dribbled some more.

But…

It quickly became apparent that TA was an actual Accountant.

TA was dull, sense of humourless, boring, and, and, and…

*sigh*

And TA had all of the in-person sexual magnetism and charm of a haddock.

A not living haddock.

At the end of the evening TA made a facial lunge for my mouth which I managed to sidestep with a hug and a cheek-offering.

TA had a cold handshake.

I wondered if TA had been an accountant since birth.

I haven’t figured out how TA had such stunning good looks yet such an unfortunate demeanour.

But that’s how it was.

An absolute prize of a date on paper, but in real life?

No.

Just no.

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