Ask Me No Questions

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‘I’ve been talking about myself for twenty minutes straight…’

Or ninety. 

‘ …you must be very bored!’

Self-aware and sensitive: what’s not to like?

‘Now, tell me, what makes you tick!?’ 

Oh dear.

‘Dancing…’

The waitress appears with the pudding menu.

And chocolate.  I scan the list: all my favourites are there.

‘As in ‘Strictly’?’

‘In a way – ‘

Charlie‘s eyes light up.  ‘It’s just come to me!  The name of that Italian singer I couldn’t remember…’

Tiramisu?

‘ …Mietta!  How do you feel about pudding?’

My eyes come to rest on the poetry of chocolate fondant (allow twenty minutes).  I think not.