So, I was chatting with Jersey last night and we decided it's all about the teeth.
We were stood at the bar enjoying a beer and watching the dancefloor. The bar in which we were drinking is famous for its Sunday 'middle eastern' evening - which basically means hot lebanese guys dancing to fabulous middle eastern disco music. The dancing is spectacular, as you'd imagine.
Anyway, in this hotbed of machismo and testosterone, it was obvious that the conversation would turn to which guys around us 'floated our boats' so to speak. We chatted to guys as they came and went from ordering drinks at the bar and we were frequently disappointed, nay horrified, by the surprises behind the smiles.
Often one of us would catch the eye of a handsome man, only for him to smile back at us with a mouthful of, well, disaster.
Bad teeth. Everywhere we turned were bad teeth.
Now, I'm English so I'm clearly not one to talk about the state of anyone's teeth, but as the evening drew on, we decided that teeth were actually a key deciding factor.
If a guy has bad hair, well it's kind of forgivable. Bad shoes - yeah, they can be changed. A hairy back? I quite like that. A bit of extra weight, no problem. But bad teeth? Eek!
We agreed that no matter how much he made us laugh, no matter how sexy he was or what he appeared to be, erm, packing, if he had bad teeth it would be a no. Sorry. Not tonight.
As we finished our drinks, we said goodbye to the bartender (good teeth, great arms) and headed off to the other bar. To the rendezvous point for the couple from the other night. We were being brave. We were feeling a little crazy too, but I think we were largely just egging each other on enough to go through with it. We waited for them to arrive.
We ordered a beer. And another. They didn't show.
We gave them until 11h30 and decided to go home. I guess they weren't feeling as brave as us. Nor as reckless, clearly.
It's been a long time since I was stood up.
I guess there's a lesson in there somewhere.