Single On Ice

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(Continued from The Lie Of The Land)CC Image courtesy of pixxiestails on Flickr

‘You’ll know the right table.  One will just seem… right.’

He goes off to the loo, leaving me to puzzle over this cryptic instruction.  I scan the garden.  There are only a few options.  None, in my opinion is quite right, but one is at least private and fairly quiet.  And since VP is only getting the lower register right now, this strikes me as a good choice.

He comes out.

‘So – er – how are you holding up?’ I say.

‘Yeah, breathing, y’know.’

I laugh.  He might be fucked, but I’m seriously fucked.  Not drunk – I’m only on my first drink.  That was an interesting moment.


‘Martini please, a single on ice.’

He shakes his head.  ‘This isn’t going well.’

‘Could there be a bit more judgment please?!’ I say, laughing.

‘I don’t think so.’


In the garden, he grills me about Tinder.  I try to change the subject.

‘No, no, we have to go with this for at least twenty minutes.’

I laugh.  ‘Why, because it’s the only thing we have in common?!’


‘There’s our mutual friends?’

‘Save them.’

‘For later – another twenty?’



I learn that I am his second Tinder date.  That the first lunged at him as they were saying goodnight.  I make a mental note: no lunging.  If he’s paying attention, he’ll know not to… ask for a second date then leave me hanging, or monologue in humourless fashion, which I don’t think he could do if he tried.


CC Image courtesy of equinoxefr on Flickr

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