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  • Writer's pictureEmily Ainscough

The Master of His Anatomy

So, you last left me about to go on my first date with Victor (the venerable vegan). The original plan was to go for a plant-based picnic with Bob (my dog) somewhere along the River Lune, but on the day we had to go back and forth on that because his life is pretty chaotic. (He was asked to go on a popular morning breakfast show in London the next day, and then the invitation was retracted because of his criminal record... don't worry, he didn't kill anyone, he broke into a lab and saved some puppies from animal testing). I'm sure it was all very exciting, but I've been in relationships before with people whose lives are like that, and it's not something I'd rush to get into again, so it wasn't a promising start.

We ended up ordering take-out and sharing a bottle of wine, which was really lovely. He payed, which was a nice touch given the back and forth, and we had some really nice conversations. It actually all felt kind-of perfect. I've been a vegetarian since I was ten years old and in the last couple of weeks I've been starting to cut out dairy too. I've swapped my cow's milk for oat milk and stopped buying eggs or cheese... so the arrival of Victor did feel a little bit like God was rewarding me for my discipline with a sexy vegan man in the local area. (Turns out God doesn't work like that... bummer.) I really fancied his personality more than anything else, he was kind and calm and tolerant...and since my personality is a little bit more like a tempest I've been thinking lately that perhaps I need a little more stolidity in my life. Sure, a couple of things he said seemed a little pretentious, but I've got a miniature bust of Carl Jung in my living room so I'm not really one to talk.

Before the date I'd also read his Kundli (Hindu astrology), because even though I don't read horoscopes with a highlighter to see what adversity I will face that day, I do believe that the reason some of these traditions remain is that they create quite a nice framework from which you can examine your own values. I've found that I can learn about myself from reading them. I sort of see it the way a journey through an art gallery is an exercise of introspection, because it's less about what there is, and more about what you see. (I've read the truth on cereal boxes and heard it on episodes of Gossip Girl... you find it where you find it). So, for a bit of fun I read his, and in the health section it described Victor as "The master of his anatomy", which is a flattering innuendo if I ever heard one. I hope one day to be the master of my anatomy, but I might need to buy a vibrator for that.

Anyway the food was good, the conversation was good, then we got drunk, had sex (non-penetrative sex is still sex!), spent pretty much all of the next day in bed together, and then he invited me on another date not long after. But alas, two dates is as far as this story will go. Long story short: I need to exercise a little more self-control in my life. When I find someone I like, instead of taking things sensibly and slowly and easing into them, I gobble-gobble-gobble them up like a greedy cookie monster! I want to have all the sex, all the time, I want to go 0-60 in emotions and give myself acid-reflux gulping down my main course to get to dessert. It isn't a healthy way to start something with another human being, and I wouldn't recommend it as a life attitude in general either.

I'd already had a few face-time drinks earlier in the day before our second date, so the sambuca had waved 'ta-ta' to any healthy inhibitions that lingered inside me. So, as I'm sure you're already imagining, I fucked it... He pied me off very respectfully a few days later and we're back on the swipe scene now. I suppose I will never fully know the extent to which Victor is the master of that alluring anatomy of his (hehe), but that's okay. I actually feel really grateful for the experience of this two-date-saga.

Rejection is a glorious, wonderful thing. It means you're being redirected towards the person you're really meant to be with. (And what a good job he did re-direct me! Because I clearly hadn't the insight to see it on my own). At first it feels crap, of course it feels crap, but it's always good to have a big cry, watch Bridget Jones and eat some jelly-tots with a glass of wine and your girlfriends on the phone telling you he was 'probably a wanker' even though we all know that he wasn't. Rejection also means that you're putting yourself out there, and that is always something to celebrate.

Everybody gets rejected, supermodels, geniuses (or genii?), probably even Carl Jung (God forbid). It's a vivid shade of blue that our rainbow wouldn't be complete without. And a few days later, it doesn't hurt anymore anyway. So thank you Victor, for helping me revisit a necessary part of the human condition, and for giving me a reason to feel proud for getting over it. Onward and upwards readers, from a sexy blogger with pie on her face. (Has this post made anyone else want a leek and potato?)

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