Well, I went on a date-thing with a boy-type person. He's an actor, but not an Actor, and of generic Continental stock. I drunkenly stole his number off Cah's phone after someone pissed me off (don't ask me how that leap was made - it's just sambuca logic) and we've hung out a few times since then. BUT it's all up in the air, me being me. I think I'm actually just getting worse and worse at these things as I get old and set in my ways.
Friday was our first official date in Mission Bay, and he tried to see me outside of a pub, drinking. Fool. If it's good enough for Amy Winehouse, you better know it's good enough for me. But I was a lady, and stuck to my single glass of riesling. The conversation was good, and he had the guts to argue his convictions from the very start. Promising, non?Of course, things took a turn for the (ahem) interesting as the night progressed. I had been feeling queasy all night, and put it down to uncharacteristic nerves or a lack of supper. But towards the end of the evening, I started feeling absolutely nauseous. He managed to bundle me onto a bus, and I got home okay.
Turns out I ate jewellery cleaner at work that afternoon. As only I can, to be fair... anyway, poor boy. I think I agreed to a second date.