… it has been a week since my last rant.
It was a week that began like any other before turning into an eight-day monster, and was capped off with the thing I had last night that could only be loosely called a date. Sure it was a notch up from a soiree for one with Star Trek re-runs on the telly, being an out-there-beyond-the-door date with a male of the species, or at least he was in theory. We met at Soul Mommas; a location that revealed a lot about my ironic sense of humour (although that one was probably lost on Henry not knowing my family history), but also ticked the box of being a busy public space, so that if things took a turn for the stabby, then I would have plenty of witnesses with camera phones (and subsequently be a fleeting hit on You Tube).
As it was I needn't have worried, because the only threatening thing between my plate of four choices and brown rice was being bored to death. Sure Henry was nice enough in that he had a regular job with normal ambitions, but he droned on and on about how he loathed what he did, and how he wanted to get out there and do something else with his life. And before any of you even begin thinking about how he reminds you of a certain somebody, I’ll remind you that slaving away at a zoo for twenty-one years has given me the right to bitch and moan, but six years working as an IT specialist earning twice my wage does not! And besides, I don’t need another me. I’m after someone who’s at stage five of their life so that they can drag me out of stage one, and I can skip all painful the stages in between.
He did kiss me goodnight however and that felt pretty nice.
Ms stage-one-twice-kissed M.
