Risotto boy

So, I’m home from uni, swiping through Tinder (as you do), and I match with this guy from Birmingham. Our first date was great fun. I meet him in Birmingham and we spend the evening playing crazy golf and some arcade games. Second date? He comes to visit me at uni and my friends practically fall in love with him. They’re obsessed. Jess even jokes about planning the wedding.

But oh boy, the third date was where things got… interesting.

By this time, I’ve moved into a new place and, considering he's making the trip down here, I offer to cook. He jumps at my offer and requests risotto – like, specifically. So, I channel my inner Gordon Ramsay and spend ages on this risotto.

He turns up, but instead of diving into my culinary masterpiece, he’s like, “I'm not hungry yet, let’s just have a drink first.” Sure, fine. We crack open some wine and chat. One bottle down, and I’m like, “Okay, surely now you want to eat?” But nope. He’s still “not hungry.” At this point, I’m side-eyeing the risotto like, “Why did I just spend 45 minutes stirring you like a witch’s cauldron if he's not going to eat?” But I keep it cool. We open another bottle of wine, because why not.

And that’s when he drops the bomb.

"I’m thinking of moving to Bedford to be with you.”

HOLD UP. We’ve been on exactly 2.5 dates, and this man’s here planning a whole relocation?! I gently remind him that we’ve only just met and maybe we should slow down before he starts booking moving vans. Anyway, we finish the bottle of wine and I’m starving. He's STILL not hungry, so I end up eating my now-slightly-sad risotto alone. The night drags on, and by 1am, I’m done. I’m tired, I want to sleep. We go to bed and I pass out, hoping for a peaceful night's sleep.

Well… not quite.

At around 2am, I’m rudely awakened by the beeping of the microwave. I drag myself to consciousness, realising this man – this risotto dodger who swore he wasn’t hungry—has snuck downstairs in the middle of the night to heat up the risotto he declined THREE times. But I’m too tired to care and fall back asleep, hoping I’m dreaming.

Morning comes, and oh no, it was not a dream. I go downstairs to find the crime scene: half-eaten risotto everywhere. Rice, bacon, and mushrooms have been smeared into sofa cushions and fallen between the cracks. There’s a new bottle of wine, opened, but barely touched – like, what’s your game plan, mate? Snack AND sip without me?

Now, I’m furious. I storm upstairs, wake him up, and come up with the world's quickest lie: “I’ve got work. You need to leave.” He has the audacity to say, “Oh, just leave me a key then.” Leave you a key?! Sure, let me leave you a key to destroy my house some more—and while we’re at it, why don’t I let you move to Bedford like you planned?! I laugh, say no, and practically shove him out of the house. Crisis averted, right?

Wrong.

I pretend to drive off to work but park around the corner to watch him leave but his car never comes. Curious, I sneak back to the house, only to find his car parked in my spot. Is this guy setting up camp? At this point, I message the girls like, “What do I do with a guy who won’t leave and is playing musical cars in my driveway?” We're baffled. I end up parking a few streets away and ninja my way back into my house, James Bond-style, and hid until he eventually left.

IT DOESN'T END THERE. I spend the morning cleaning up the risotto mess and notice something on the kitchen counter. It’s the packet of risotto rice. And what’s on the back? A LOVE LETTER. Yep. This man wrote a declaration of love... on the back of a risotto packet.

Sorry, Hun, the feeling just isn't quite mutual...