“I brought you here because I thought it would be romantic” I say defensively, staring down at the steadily spreading wine-stain on my shirt.
“Do you ever ponder the implications of a romantic meal?” she asks me, taking my glass and with it my wine.
“Well, it’s about atmosphere… it’s about fine wine and fine food… meaningful conversation…” I begin.
“But where does all that romance go?” she asks, downing my wine in one.
“Into the section of our brain reserved for treasured memories?” I ask.
“Down the toilet… in one great big…”
“I get your point” I interrupt quickly. “Is it fair to say this isn’t going well?”
“What isn’t going well?”
“Our date?” I ask.
“This is a date?” she asks, her eyes suddenly wide.
“I thought it was…” I say slowly.
“Oh.”
“Oh?”
“Wow…” she says, tilting her head slightly to one side.
“What did you think it was?” I ask slowly.
“I felt it was rude to ask” she replies slowly. “I assumed it was a murder mystery weekend.”
“Pardon?”
“I was waiting for you to be killed… then I’d solve the mystery.”
I order another bottle of wine.
“I don’t want any more wine,” she says, “you’re trying to get me drunk.”
“I resent that accusation,” I shrug, “I am trying to get me drunk.”
“Are you an alcoholic?”
“Always wanted to be… Congratulations, you’ve finally inspired me to live my dreams.”
She sighs and starts feeding pieces of gum into her mouth.
“What are you doing?” I say slowly, hypnotised by the endlessly disappearing pieces of gum.
“I am trying to get rid of the taste of the romance. It had too much garlic” she says, unleashing a waft of breath so minty it burns my eyes.
“Does your breath need to be quite that fresh?” I ask, trying to blink away the tears.
“I might kiss someone tonight.”
I smile.
She laughs.
“Oh god no, I meant someone attractive.”
I contemplate repeatedly slamming my head into the remains of my fettuccini.
“What’s wrong with me?” I ask weakly.
“Well, you’re going to be murdered…” she says.
“Look, I still don’t know where you got this idea that I’m going to be murdered…”
“The more time I spend with you, the more I believe it.”
I give up and put my feet up on the table.
“What are you doing?” she asks in horror.
“I’ve decided to stop trying to be suave.”
“You were trying?”
I let out my most patronising laugh and light a match from the sole of my shoe and use it to light a cigarette. Then I flick the match at her.
“Stop that” she says angrily as she pats out her dress.
“Does it matter? I’m going to die soon… I can be a right cock and get away with it” I shrug.
“I’m only going to try to solve the crime so that I can give your killer a medal” she growls.
“You’re a feisty one aren’t you?” I say, making a slightly regrettable clawing cat gesture.
“No, I’m a woman… which means I find you insufferable and will never, ever, ever have sex with you.”
“What if we were the last two people alive?” I ask, taking a newspaper from my pocket and turning hopefully to the obituary column.
“That’s sick…”
“What?” I ask, glancing up from the most recently deceased light-entertainer.
“First, you’re saying I’d have to have sex with you twice… and then when they were old enough our kids would have to… Wow… you’re disgusting…”
“It’s just something people say” I say quickly, returning to the safety of the paper.
“In your internet chatroom?” she asks with a tone and at a volume that is not appreciated.
“Fine… if we were one of the last two couples left on Earth?”
“I’d just watch them and have a wank.” |
