speed
Last night I've beaten a personal record for the shortest date in my (very short and very recent) dating history. There was absolutely no reason to cut it short on grounds of dislike or, worse, deception ("eew, so that's what he looks like in daylight!"), it's just that I must have caught that nasty cold / bug thing that's going around at the moment (either that, or that I'm allergic to work).
- 8:35 - first pint;
- 8:55 - a video from Kylie's latest concert is shown on the big screen in the bar (and consequent silence in an otherwise lively and flirty conversation);
- 9:05 - second pint (him, not me - I can never remember if you should starve a fever and feed a cold or viceversa, but I'm pretty sure lager is no good for either);
- 9:20 - second Kylie video + conversation hyatus;
- 9:30 - drove home in his cool convertible (I suppose that's why he insisted so much in driving me home, and I don't blame him for that);
- 9:38 - goodnight peck on my doorstep, and tentative plans to meet at the Vauxhall on Sunday;
- 9:40 - back in time for Sex and the City - a girl can definitely have it all.