Date Night Justice

He had finally worn me down.

All the pestering at the gym water fountain. The smiles from a distance over the cardio equipment, which almost always ended with him catching his own reflection and smiling to himself. The messages to my Facebook. The coincidental run ins at the coffee shop. It seemed never-ending. So when he'd cornered me on my way to the changing room, told me he'd booked somewhere special for Saturday dinner and that he expected me to join him, I sighed and agreed. He had finally worn me down.

As I sat opposite him in the glossy dining room that oozed fake sophistication, I smiled and nodded for what seemed like the thousandth time. There he was, rabbiting on and on and on about himself, only pausing to seductively smile at whichever woman caught his attention, or worse, his own reflection in the mirrored dining room wall we had unfortunately been sat beside. He really was something to look at: a beautifully crafted athletic physique, coated in a crisp Italian white shirt, tight tailored trousers and frosted with a huge Rolex that resembled a Tunnock's teacake; the man looked good. It was just a shame that his beyond-inflated ego seeped through and destroyed any redeeming qualities about him. Yet, here I sat, in my black strappy Calvin Klein dinner dress, Kate Louboutins and seamed Wolford stockings for someone I greatly disliked. Yes, the man had finally worn me down.

"Babe, guess how much I can squat. Bet you'll never guess. Go on, take a guess", he fired at me. Riveting conversation.

"Pffffff.... oh I don't know, 150kg?", I threw out nonchalantly.

"HAAA!!!! Not even close, babe! 250. Two fifty kees, these bad boys can lift", as he slapped his thighs in admiration.

I didn't flinch.

"Have a feel. I bet you're dying to know what a real man feels like". He grabbed my hand and with serious force, pulled it towards his lap, causing me to startle and our table's contents to crash. Surrounding diners glanced over and sniggered to each other with amusement. I was mortified.

Completely unaware of the reaction of his date, or fellow diners, he continued.

"Yep, these beasts have won me many a competition, and many a woman, if you know what I mean", his voice raised and he animatedly winked at me, before searching around him for silent praise from our neighbours.

"Kill. Me. Now", I prayed.

You might wonder why I would put myself through such an ordeal. I knew of his reputation, I knew he bedded women from the gym, never called them back and laughed about it with his cronies as they spotted each other doing lifts. I knew this, yet here I sat, in my best black dress and heels. He had finally worn me down.

When the waiter brought the bill at the end of the meal, I audibly sighed with relief; my public humiliation was finally over.

"So babe, back to mine for a wee, het hem, nightcap?" he grinned at me and winked.