Poppy Seed’s Call
September 19, 2011 § 13 Comments
The call came through yesterday afternoon. I am ashamed to say I was slumped, half-asleep having eaten a soporific lunch. One of the children answered the telephone, which was not ideal. When I took it, I was far from bright of mind and my sleep-fuddled tone completely failed to disguise the fact that I knew who it was – which he must have found odd considering I hadn’t seen or spoken to him for years, though may have guessed my mother would have tipped me off – and indeed had been expecting his call. Not exactly very cool. When he asked me out for a cup of coffee, or a drink, or even supper, I replied in a voice which must have sounded as though I had a large gag of cotton wool in my mouth. Too eagerly – even though in truth I didn’t feel all that eager – I said, yes, yes, yes, I am up for day time, evening, whatever, and dinner was fine as long as I had enough notice to score a babysitter, blah, blah, blah. The poor man. He must have put down the telephone thinking what kind of weird woman had he let himself in for? There again, we only settled on lunch, and anyone can endure a mere weekday lunch with someone, it’s hardly terminal. When we are face to face, I hope to make amends, and be my more normal, somewhat brighter self, but he can make lunch quick if he wants to, and it can be the first and last of it.
I have to admit, had I been less sleepy, there are still no guarantees that I would have handled the conversation any better. I’m crap at this stuff. And I would be a liar if I said that, had I been more on the ball, I would have made my excuses and not taken him up on his offer. I would have agreed to a date in any case, despite the extensive and excellent advice I have had to give such a fellow a wide berth. The fact is, he is the first and only man who has asked me out on a date for about 100 years and, frankly, even if he is not an enormously promising prospect (with the possible exception of his bank balance, but there again my DNA is obviously wanting in as much as I have never found money an aphrodisiac), I am at this point open to suggestion.
Almost indecently open to suggestion.
In the face of a tiny crumb chucked at one out of nowhere, and in the almost complete absence of any other sustenance whatsoever, I challenge any other plankton not to have done the same thing.