I went on a Tinder date with my tutor and he was a massive creep
He said: ‘Don’t all english girls wear short skirts?’
Some people fantasise about uniforms, some people get off on bad boys, but for me it has always been teachers.
Probably a deep rooted obsession having attended an all girls’ school for seven years where the rule was: if he’s male, under thirty and has all four limbs then James Dean might as well be teaching your Latin class.
Of course this teenage fantasy disappeared when I went to university. Until my year abroad in France, where it was replaced with a rose-tinted image of me, riding on the back of a Frenchman’s vespa, cigarette in one hand and a copy of Lolita in the other. When I got to my French uni, all the French boys in class were the same vacant looking adolescents in black turtlenecks and I wasn’t prepared to date a boy who dressed like Steve Jobs. So, I took to my last resort – Tinder.
After a few drinks in it dawned upon me that the teacher must have had a penchant for English students since the topic of conversation hadn’t changed since our first G&T. The same nagging of “Where is your short skirt? Don’t all English girls wear short skirts?” and a string of bizarre questions about watching the Queen’s speech on Christmas day made me realise that my friends were correct. This wasn’t the right thing to do and it was a little bit weird.
I had made the effort to go on this shit date but I couldn’t bear talking about fish and chips for another ten minutes. The poor guy wanted some sort of English experience so that’s exactly what I gave him.
I told him I had to leave to watch Downton Abbey, hoping he would get the subtle humour of my excuse (I thought it was funny – he didn’t).
After making several attempts to walk me home , the night became just plain awkward – but not as awkward as having to walk past him after class on the Monday morning.