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?’

9 years ago

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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.

Having swiped left to several Antoines, I came across the silver fox who taught the other tutorial class. Despite my friends’ efforts to make me swipe left because “it was the right thing to do” and “a little bit weird”, I swiped right, matched and started chatting to him. He eagerly asked me to drinks after only a little bit of small talk and I agreed to go, even though the only thing I knew we had in common was we both spent our Wednesday afternoons in the business school (sorry mum).

I only went because he was my teacher. A few days later, I thought I should mention the elephant in the room, but he didn’t seem to mind that I was a student. I met him after he finished class one night outside an English themed bar he had chosen (he thought it was funny – it wasn’t). All of this would have been well and good if it was one sided but it became clear to me he too had his own fantasies.

How I went into class on Monday

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.

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