The whole concept of guy-meets-girl during freshers fortnight resembles to me something similar to the horror stories I’ve heard about Chat Roulette.com, where coming face to face with a total stranger can often leave you feeling dumbfounded, visually violated or harshly rejected by a guy you didn’t even have time to feign an interest in, but whose dismissiveness somehow offends you nonetheless.
I have encountered all of these in the past fortnight, most completely harmless and to great comic effect. One guy unknowingly hit on me twice last week, the second time round having made up an entirely new life story. On another night, a really gorgeous boy pulled me over on the dance floor, his Paolo Nutini esque beauty thankfully distracting me from his use of the line: “Haven’t I seen you here before?” Not distracting enough however to mask the fact that he was wearing a white tank top and a straw hat... on the dancefloor (it wasn’t fancy dress). Did someone say deal breaker? It was such a shame. A novice in the world of casual dating, I only gave out my number once all fortnight, and two purposely ignored ‘booty call’ texts later I had promptly learned the lesson of my naivety.
All this is no credit to me by the way, I am but a very small fish in a very big pond. I was probably one of a dozen girls that our resident Paulo took a fancy to between 1 and 2am that night. I can’t blame him for the others, either. I have never seen so many beautiful girls in one room before – a guy could fall in love every night for three years here, and I bet that some of them do.
I thought I’d met my match already, when I arrived at the Superhero’s party and locked eyes with the only other Peter Pan in the room. Then I saw him in broad daylight the next day, when the white V-neck and Dolce and Gabbana belt told me everything I needed to know about that.
The thing is, I’ve been thrown in at the deep end. I’m just a girl who flirts with her eyes, someone who doesn’t have a type, who accidently imagines how a guys surname sounds after her own following their first conversation, who thinks things were simpler – but far less interesting – when you weren’t supposed to kiss on the first date, someone who gets tongue tied talking to handsome strangers despite her degree being pretty much based upon an (apparently lacking) ability to hold a conversation with anybody.
After just a fortnight at Uni I’ve realised there are only two options now, little fishes: sink or swim.