THE BLIND DATEIn my late teens in the 1960’s, I worked for a large government department in a typing pool with about twenty girls in it. Yes, I am that old. I started off with a manual typewriter and we had to type up an original and four carbon copies of every report or letter we did. I used to arrive home every night with black carbon marks on my sleeve. And don’t get me started on the woes of changing a typewriter ribbon. But I digress.
In those times in the typing pool, a blind date was a thing of ridicule. You were looked upon as desperate because you couldn’t find a man of your own, and had to rely on some other girl’s generosity to introduce you to her brother, her boyfriend’s mate etc.
Anyway, every year there was an annual ball/formal dance, and if you didn’t attend, you were socially ruined. It was then public knowledge that you couldn’t get yourself a man.
My girlfriend and I cringed when everyone else was discussing their ball gown etc. and we hadn’t even been asked. Well, our fear of missing out on the ball and the subsequent humiliation led us to contemplate a desperate plan - the blind date. She lined me up with the guy living across the road from her, and I lined her up with my cousin who had just broken up with his girlfriend.
We had a great time at the ball, and no-one ever knew our dark and deadly secret, we had attended in the company of our blind dates.
My cousin ended up going back to his girlfriend, and I ended up marrying my blind date.
I have written two novels, set during the 1960’s, Reluctant Father, and Make Love Not War.