Date #3

Or, The One That Wasn't Really a Date

Tricky one, this. You see, it wasn't actually, in the true definition of the word, a date. It was a drink with a friend. A rather good-looking male friend. And this very friend, who we shall call Uni Boy, was someone she had had a massive, embarrassing (and massively embarrassing) crush on for the best part of the last decade. So, she felt able to say it was a date. Or at least to pretend. And spent considerably longer getting ready for this one than either date#1 or date#2.

If this was a Richard Curtis film, he would be the one that she would end up with. The one who would gradually, by the end of this blog's life, realise that she really was the hottest, smartest, most wonderful girl in the whole world. Which, of course, she IS.

She felt ridiculously nervous for what was, on paper, a drink with a friend. And when he swaggered towards her with his ridiculous good-looking face, she actually fell a little more in love with him. But then, they hugged outside a wheely bin on a slightly grotty street and she realised - he was just Uni Boy. And she was standing outside KFC.

They had a great time, despite the fact he wasn't drinking, which rather scuppered her plans to get him recklessly drunk and kiss him (on the advice of a friend). But he was still just Uni Boy. No fireworks, just fun. And no crush, no matter how long it's lastest for, is worth worrying about if there isn't even a Roman Candle's worth of excitement on offer. It seems that despite everything, he's just not her hot, smart, wonderful boy. And so the search goes on.