Tab Tries: Take Me Out
We take part in Take Me Out for charity
“IF LUCY CAN GET A DATE, WE CAN TOO!”
These were my friend Abi’s words upon drunkenly stumbling across a Facebook page advertising Cambridge University’s African-Caribbean Society (CUACS)’s version of Take Me Out.
“YEEAAH,” I replied. “Let’s do it NOW.”
And so we wrote an application:
“We loooove Take Me Ooout. We are like the twins a.k.a JEDWARD. Because we are Tabigail. And we LURVE Lucy. She is amazing. We want to be Looooosssy……”
Two days later, we received an email saying we were in, and a week later we found ourselves in King’s bar, frantically trying to recreate our drunken enthusiasm for what was potentially the worst idea we’d ever had.
Ten minutes before the show was due to start, my phone rang.
“I just wanted to wish you and Abi the best of luck! This could be the night you find your future husbands…”
“Mum, that’s not really the-“
“Oooh, I’m so excited for you girls. Byeee!”
For those readers who are unfamiliar with Take Me Out, the idea is that a selection of average-to-poor men present themselves to a panel of desperate, orange, barely-clothed women. As the men reveal more about themselves, the girls either keep their lights on, or turn their lights off (no likey, no lighty), until the men ultimately pick girls to go on dates with. Simple.
Highlights from the current series include Paddy McGuinness asking one girl what she’s looking for in a man, and her earnest response being: “Anything with a pulse,” and another girl admitting: “I don’t know what subject an MA is…” That’s the type of girl we’re dealing with here.
And so, somehow, we found ourselves on a stage with eight other women, ready to consider dating three different men. As we got onto the stage and looked around, we were hit by the two sudden realisations. Firstly: we were the joke. Secondly: we were not nearly drunk enough.
“I want to leave.” Abi whispered.
“This is awful. I hate it. Why did we decide to do this?” I hissed back.
And before we managed to find a sneaky escape route, Man 1 entered. Wearing a white Adidas hoody. No likey. No likey. No likey. He proceeded to read a girl’s palm and show a VT of himself working out. Admittedly, he was taking the piss, but we were much too traumatised by the situation we were in to find anything even mildly amusing.
Man 2 was marginally better. He was good looking, but short. His VT was funny. But, he cracked his knuckles before playing the piano. A definite: no likey.
Man 3 entered to some Afrobeats, and showed off some excellent moves. Man 3’s moves potentially rivalled break-dancing pro Oscar’s moves. And that’s saying something.
“Hi ladies. I’m from ARU-” he started.
“Can I turn off my light?” Abi whispered.
“Nooo. That’s soooo harsh.”
But she did. And so did I.
All in all: a terrifying experience. Turns out, you have to be truly desperate or entirely lacking in any self-respect to actually enjoy being a Take Me Out panelist. We have undoubtedly gained a new-found respect for the women who put themselves through this ritual humiliation week after week. We love the show because we can laugh at them, but when the tables were turned, we weren’t laughing so much anymore.
And so, as we left King’s and started our long walk home, we consoled ourselves with the following information:
1. It was for charity.
2. We didn’t get rejected because we rejected them first. Cunning.
3. Gardi’s was still open, and there isn’t a problem that Vas can’t solve.
CUACS’s Take Me Out supported ACLT. Click HERE for more information.