Never mind The Current Economic Climate - this date is frostier than the ice age, writes Ross O'Carroll-Kelly
I HAD THIS NIGHTMARE the other night that Tesco was flogging Denby plates, that Renards was being turned into a sports and karaoke bor and that the Dome in Stephen's Green had become an all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet. Turns out, of course, it wasn't a nightmare at all - I was actually awake, thinking about the various ways in which the world, as we know it, is coming to a basic end.
Not surprisingly, I couldn't get back to sleep, so I whipped out the laptop and ended up having a bit of to and fro with one of my Facebook friends - in other words Megan? All I really knew about this bird was that she looked like Kate Hudson in her profile picture but over the next couple of hours you would have to say we made an unbelievable connection.
It turns out, roysh, she shares a lot of my actual worries? She was in the Molton Brown shop last weekend and she saw a woman checking her change - as in actually checking her change. "When was the last time you saw anyone do that?" she goes.
I was there, "I'd imagine it happens on, like, Moore Street, but it's still like - Jesus, has it come to this?" and she's straight back with, "Welcome to a new moment in time - it's called The Current Economic Climate."
I tell her I'm already sick of hearing those actual words? I tell her about the old dear threatening to quit FO'CK Cooking, after RTÉ asked her to stop using Wensleydale with apricots and organic kohlrabi and to instead use ingredients that better relect The Current Economic Climate. Like tinned focking sweetcorn, presumably.
She goes, "As a protest, she should just show viewers how to heat up one of those Heinz All Day Breakfasts - bacon, sausage and beans in a tin," and I tell her One F's theory, that the man who works out how to get a fried egg in there is going to be the first billionaire of the post-boom era. She's there, "You mean The Current Economic Climate," and I laugh out loud.
It's obvious where all this flirting is leading us. I'm thinking, I've got to get this girl in the ring, so I suggest a meet. She's - I'd have to say - reluctant at first, unable to believe her luck possibly, or more likely she knows all about my rep. There's a lot of birds who like the danger of flirting with me on these sites, but deep down they know I'm manthrax.
"It's just a drink," I go. "If it helps, I think you're an actual ringer for Kate Hudson," and she goes, "Er, that is Kate Hudson! My face is way too offensive to put online!" and I laugh out again, thinking, I've never actually been into, like, personality when it comes to birds, until now - although I make sure to meet her somewhere where I can see her coming, just in case she's serious about being a hound.
I'd imagine you're thinking exactly what I was thinking, standing outside SamSara - this is going to turn out to be some, I don't know, sixty-year-old man or some shit? But it's not, roysh, because over she comes and it is the bird in the photograph and my first words to her are, "Thank fock!"
But this, believe it or not, is the moment it storts to get weird. Instead of, like, air-kissing me, like any normal Irish girl, Megan sticks out her hand and goes, "Hello, Ross. I'm pleased to meet you," and it's only when I laugh in her face that I realise she's actually serious.
So I end up shaking her hand, then I suggest we go in. There's no actual bouncers on the door and I go, "Another sign of The Current Economic Climate, huh?" and she just goes, "Yes - yes it is." I get them in anyway, deciding to give her the benefit of the doubt - a lot of birds get nervous on first dates. I'm not blowing my own kazoo here, but look who's buying her a vodka and Diet 7-Up!
We grab our drinks and sit down. I happen to mention, roysh, that Lidl might be moving in where Habitat used to be and I expect her to fire back that, I don't know, they're already in Foxrock and Greystones - they saw the end of the world coming before anyone - but she doesn't. She just sits there and goes, "Hmmm, I see."
And that's how it continues. There's pretty much fock-all coming from her and she actually storts to bring my game down. I'm reduced to making bullshit conversation: "Is that Laura Woods over there or just a bird who looks like her? I've a major thing for Laura Woods, you know." She's like, "Hmmm."
I all of a sudden realise what the Jack is here, because I've heard about this before - there's birds out there who are like, I don't know, Sarah Silverman when you're Facebooking or Beboing them but then they can't actually do face to face.
I'm there, "I hope you don't mind me saying, but this is turning out to be a focking washout, isn't it? No offence, but you're a bit Weekend at Bernie's, aren't you?" She shrugs her shoulders as if to say, basically, sorry. "I don't have much of a personality," she goes.
I'm there, "You do online," and we both sort of, like, half-smile. "You'd make a great girlfriend if I never had to meet you - and I mean that very geniunely."
She's there, "We could . . ." and she suddenly stops, as if she wishes she hadn't spoken. I'm there, "What?" and she goes, "I was just going to say, we could both go home and just, like, Facebook each other." Instead of sucking face? Well, it couldn't be any worse than this.
An hour later, I'm back in the gaff and she's already left me a message. "Dunnes Stores are stocking Waterford Crystal!" I could fall in love with this girl - and we're talking virtually.
www.rossocarrollkelly.ie
If you can't wait for next week's column keep up to date with Ross's adventures in cyberspace at irishtimes.com