Recollections Of Our First Date

Version 1: Once upon a time…

Having spent hours cleaning my house, it was now sufficiently ready for female company.

Let me give you the grand tour:

At the doorway I planted a simple but loving welcome message on a post-it. Just to brighten her day.

I made a point to make my living area look particularly spacious by rearranging some furniture. I wanted her to be as comfortable as possible.

To set the mood, I had some incense burning in a small corner of the front room.

Emphasising my domestic flair, I had displayed a wonderful selection of  the finest condiments from my pantry.

I was sure she would be impressed by the blossoming greenery of the large communal backyard.

To the left, was the bedroom where I anticipated most of the night’s activities would take place…

After courting and wooing her via text message, she was finally here.

Version 2: Happily never after…

Having spent hours rummaging through my wardrobe, I was now ready for the company of one lucky female.

Let me give you the grand tour:

Upon entering, I immediately stepped on something sticky.

I looked around at the hallway. Evidenty this was the living / dining / lounge room. I use the term ‘lounge’ loosely as it encompasses the single-mattress-on-the-floor-with-a-cushion-against-the-wall combination that seemed to be the primary form of seating and the main table of the household.

It was clear she made no attempt to set a romantic mood. I caught a wafting smell in the house and assumed something had died there recently. Possibly the previous occupant.

I walked two steps to the kitchen area, or rather, the corner which included a semi-functioning oven and a salvaged bookshelf-turned-pantry consisting mainly of chicken salt seasoning sachets.

I looked out the window, only to see a sad tuft of weeds and a crooked clothesline.

To the left was the bedroom. (Clearly the least active room in the house.)

After numerous, harassing text messages, I had finally agreed to come here.


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