In which I don't do things by The Book...

Some decisions can be made lightly without consequence. Others, however, should be taken over time, with proper consideration. And, according to The Book (no, not that one; this one. Far more pragmatic as far as day-to-day rules are concerned), the introduction of one’s lover into one’s social circle is such a decision, and one that should never be rushed. Wisely, one is advised that people have all sorts of reasons for having sexual relationships, and they do not include whether an individual is good socially. Add to this the inescapable fact that modern relationships are becoming increasingly fragile and problematical, and you have plenty of justification for social reticence.

Sadly, my social reticence was compromised a couple of weeks ago when I was faced with the alarmingly sparse contents of Minor Celebrity’s fridge.

“What?!” Came the defensive retort from the man old enough to know that (sadly) wine may be made from grapes, but it doesn’t contribute towards one’s five-a-day. “I eat out a lot.”

“Clearly. Just out of interest, when was the last time you had a proper Sunday roast?”

“Um…”

Which is how I got into the less-than-considered situation of extending an invitation (rapidly accepted) to Blonde Towers for a roast the following Sunday. To be honest, it was more a desire to ward off MC’s possible scurvy than any deep-rooted desire for him to spend time with my friends, but that didn’t deter him from accepting the invitation.

And that is how I was re-reminded of the stages one goes through when one introduces the guy one is seeing to one’s friends…

The first is an abounding case of nerves. And noone concerned is immune, apparently. At Blonde Towers, anxieties ranged from Alpha Male’s (“I can’t believe I’m cooking for MINOR CELEBRITY!”) to Minor Celebrity’s (a pre-supper text: Please be nice to me). Unfortunately, in the latter case, nerves also manifested themselves in a virulent case of name-dropping, mercifully soon quelled when Best Mate and I found ourselves working hard at suppressing potent cases of the giggles.

The second stage (the arrival at which was aided by several bottles of Shiraz) is relaxation and enjoyment of the company. Minor Celebrity embraced this by moving from nerve-induced name-dropping to reciting amusing anecdotes about people in the world of the meeja, such as one well-known daytime game-show host who has taken to chatting up the more attractive, young, female contestants. A piece of paper will be handed to the lucky gal with a series of options written on it:

A romantic dinner for two?
A trip to the theatre?
A moonlit walk in the park?

And, at the bottom…

Deal, or no deal?

And – once all occupants are sated by roast lamb, homemade apple and raspberry crumble and more wine than is good for them – comes the final stage: bonding. In our case, this took the form of a couple of rounds of Perudo – Alpha Male and Minor Celebrity bonded rather more than necessary over their alarmingly developed senses of competition and their dislike at being beaten by a girl. And, in a show of generosity, Minor Celebrity agreed to having his photo taken [we’d promised to send one to the Choristers (Various) who are distressingly thrilled about the prospect of my dating him]. I was touched. I was less impressed when he proceeded to style the pictures in the form of particularly cheesy Hello-worthy shots, with him and me standing by the fireplace, champagne glasses in hand. I’ve not shown the mother; she’ll only rush out for a hat.

Given the stress of the evening, I’m sticking firmly with my belief that The Book doesn’t lie: given that I don’t yet feel us to be established as a couple, any further introductions will continue to be carefully limited. Especially given that friends of less strong constitutions will be scared off by the anecdote about Dale Winton…

Tags: Celebrity, Dating