From that moment on, I was getting emails asking me what my favourite dishes were, would Italian, Indian or Greek cuisine suit, did I have any special requests for pudding, did I prefer red or white wine, which music would I like etc.; he was certainly injecting maximum effort into making the evening a convivial and culinary success.
Buoyed by these early indications of eternal devotion, I went shopping for the burkha. Primark did not, as had been hoped, come up trumps; though with their skimpy sizes, even if they had them, they’d have been the size of a hankie. You’d think - global village that we have become - it would be easy to get a simple garment like a pink burkha - after all, it’s not exactly an advanced Vogue Pattern - but no; not even in all the department stores. So I had to resort to buying four yards of pink georgette. As you can see, after cutting out the eye holes, I took the utmost care to satin-stitch around them; notice I did not say overlock – I said satin-stich – I was planning on looking my haute-couture best should the moment and/or manhood arise.
The hour had been set, the address had been sent, the fabulicous menu had been decided, and then, the morning when the date was due, he blew me out! But what a brush off!
I have given a great deal more thought to the possibilities of you and me and have come to the decision that I wouldn’t be able to give you everything that I would want to give you. If we had met 5 years ago then I would have been in a place where I would have been thrilled with the opportunity that a romance with you would offer - intellectually stimulating, adventurous, physically fun (you are, without question, a 'hottie'!)(Yeah, I know, Stella’s whip on my fat ass is a constant – yelp! -inspiration) and a real challenge. In the circumstances I don't think dinner tonight is a good idea.
I hope you will forgive me... (Yada, schmada...)
Followers! According to him I am bloody marvellous in every frigging way! (OK – I admit I didn’t quite recognise the description - perhaps he mistook me for someone else?) And yet… and yet… evidently not quite marvellous enough to cook a poxy, measly dinner for! I mean - what man in his right mind wouldn’t jump at the chance of me?! And more to the point, what the hell am I going to do with all that sodding georgette? That cost me over 30 quid, that did.
Offspring who has not
been kicked out of flown the nest yet requires feeding; better go and get him a worm from the freezer.
I shall be back shortly with the further email exchange. Pshht, tsk, mnyeh. Arse.
Franchement, quel culot! Now I know what I’ll have to delete from my profile – the bit that attracts the wrong sort of enquiries.