1. I’ve been asked for another Eva story, and I’m terrifically obliging so here it is:
One Tuesday morning Eva, who was in her forties when I knew her, arrived wearing a new dress and matching red cardigan. I dislike red, but I am polite and a liar so:
Me: “That’s a jolly nice dress, Eva, and I like the cardi, too. Are they new?”
Eva: “Yes. And I have new pants. Look!”
*hoiks dress up over her head to reveal the new red undies and does a full 180 degree twirl*
Me: “Er, very nice, yes.”
2. Look, Mike-the-suit-and-purple-striped-shirt, I realise that most women my age are actively seeking men who are financially stable, smartly dressed and keen to settle down in the suburbs immediately. I am not one of those women – but you weren’t to know that, of course, so I understand that you expected me to be impressed on our date last night when you said that you have your own accountancy consulting business based in the City.
I did my best, I swear, but really *yawn* I couldn’t care less how much money you have, what car you drive or why the Isle of Man qualifies as a tax haven.
Also, I am fundamentally and comprehensively uninterested in hearing a detailed history of your sinus issues, nor will I laugh delightedly over an anecdote about a friend of yours who has a harem of barely legal girls in Thailand that he pays off and replaces when they reach 25. Seriously, man, that shit’s not funny, trust me.
So, when you said “It was nice to meet you. I’d like to do this again sometime, can I call you?” and I said “It was nice to meet you, too” and then left at speed, what that actually means is “No. Way.”