And I’d rather leave than be the one left.
Gemma BurgessIt’s always easier to walk away.
Gemma BurgessRobert clears his throat. ‘So, ladies and gentlemen, if I may, I’d like to encourage you to turn to the one you love – or, if you are between loves right now, then the nearest person of the opposite sex, provided of course that their significant other doesn’t
mind – and tell them that you love them. No caveats, no limited time only, no terms and conditions: be true
to yourself, take a risk, and tell them you love them. To love!
Do you know how to open a coconut?’
‘“Open” a coconut?’ I repeat.
‘I’m making a tropical punch.’
‘What a stunning idea,’ I say.
‘Not original enough for you, my little creative bunny? Fine. Here’s a twist for you: when
someone drinks it, you have to hit them in the face. Get it? Tropical punch.
It was a “Come As Your Childhood Ambition” theme party. You know: vets, pilots, ballet
dancers…I really did always want to be a librarian.’
‘You’re actually just a big dork, aren’t you?’ he says.
‘A big sexy dork,’ I correct him, taking a sip of my drink. ‘And that’s MISS Big Sexy Dork to
you.’ (Oh, hush. I know it’s obvious flirting. It just came out.)
‘Cocky. So cocky,’ he says, shaking his head.
I’m not sure what to say to this. Cocky is certainly not how I’d describe myself.
‘See? You’re not even bothering to reply. Cocky. Fine, I’ll talk. Even though you haven’t asked
me, I would have come as a dog. I thought I was a dog, actually, till I was five. I would only eat froma bowl on the floor next to our real dog, Scooby, and I wee-ed against trees whenever I could.
He replies (four minutes later):
Anyone who throws a glass of wine in someone’s face has to expect to be talked about.
Shit.
I think about what to reply and (nine minutes later) settle on:
That was bar theatre. You wouldn’t guess it, but everyone involved was an actor. Even the
wine was acting.
He leans over and puts the radio on. It’s Jason Donovan’s ‘Sealed With A Kiss’.
‘I love the music they play up here in the sticks,’ I say
‘We’re in Oxfordshire, darling. Not Far East Kentucky,’ replies Jake
‘When I first heard this song, I thought it was about sea eels,’ I say. ‘Because it’s about summer,which means swimming, and I’d just found out that sea eels even existed, and it seemed to make sense.’
‘Sea eeled with a kiss?’ repeats Jake
What are you doing here, anyway? You don’t strike me as the speed dating type.’
‘I lost a bet with Alfie,’ he says. ‘You met him at The Cow that day . . .?’ Waistcoat Guy, I think, nodding. ‘I said to him that if you didn’t text me back then I’d try speed dating, because I’m officially the worst single man in London.’
‘You’re not!’ I say. ‘I mean, it wasn’t a bad date. I was just . . .’
‘Don’t say you were drunk! It’s the biggest post-sex insult ever.’
‘. . . drunk, I mean drinking, a bit more than I ought, and I was, uh, cringing at the thought that I’d been a nightmare date.’
‘No. You were great,’ says Mark/Skinny Jeans.
‘Actually, the biggest post-sex insult is “we did?”’ says Robert. ‘But that’s another story.
Tag: humor robert-on-the-phone speed-dating
Your chest is surprisingly hairy.’
‘I hope I can’t say the same thing about you.
Sorry. Did you know you giggle in your sleep, by the way?’
‘Really? How adorable of me.
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