I hesitate, about to hit send. Something’s niggling. Friday, Friday… I let it go, the niggle, and the email, out into cyberspace.
Colleague chucks the magazine across the desk. I open it to be confronted by a sea of red.
‘What are you doing for Valentine’s Day?’ I say.
Colleague makes a pained sound.
I laugh. ‘Aside from slowly killing yourself?!’
She’s got a family birthday party. It sounds like fun.
I pull a face. ‘I’ve just realized – I suggested doing something on Friday to someone. But it’s fine, he won’t get the wrong idea.’
I say a little prayer that Editor will overlook my suggestion, and plump instead for a night the following week. When, over dinner, he will ask how the blog is going (code for ‘how is your barren, featureless desert of a love life?’), before remarking that it can’t be going all that well since I suggested we do this on Valentine’s Day.