“How did your date go, the other day?” A woman accosts me in the changing room at the gym. She’s in my Spin class. We must have spoken when I was getting changed to meet a chap, only I can’t now remember which one.
“Which one was that?” I say.
“You were meeting one at lunchtime and then you were hoping to hear from one who you were going to meet in the evening,” she says.
Ah, it must have been that 6 foot 5 Swedish one. “He was nice,” I tell her.
“And the evening one?” She says, pulling her jeans on.
“That fell through,” I say. That was the second date with the Captain that never happened. Sigh.
“What you want to do is to go to the supermarket,” she says, brushing her long blonde hair. “I know a couple of girls who met their boyfriends at the supermarket.”
“Thank you,” I say. “I have to have something to eat. Missed breakfast and…”
“You have something to eat, love. And remember: the supermarket,” she says, pulling her socks on.
Was at the supermarket yesterday with Dad, actually.
“Let’s pop in to Tesco. Wine is twenty five percent off,” Dad says.
We fill a trolley with wine. Is nice to be spending time with my Dad, I think, as we load wine bottles into the trolley.
Unfortunately, any chap who saw me then would have thought that I was an alcoholic from a dynasty of alcoholics. Even though that is not the case.
A couple of new messages from the Twitcher today. Wonder if we will ever meet though.
A new chap – a Danish photographer -has turned up. He looks gorgeous: big blue eyes, lots of shaggy dirty blond hair. He sounds keen to meet in his messages. Fingers crossed…