You didn’t wear the suit I imagined. I’d spotted you buying it a few days ago, and I remember thinking: ”I bet that’s for our date.”
You didn’t bring me flowers, which isn’t a bad thing because I would feel irritated by that. I don’t want to carry a bunch of flowers around with me to a pub and a restaurant when I don’t have a vase. And then when I get home I have to find a vase, but the only vessels I have are wine and vodka bottles.
You didn’t compliment me on my dress, which I took ages to pick out. It didn’t help that my best friend Marie was with me when I tried it on, and she’d look good in a sack whereas I always look like I’m wearing a sack, which is different.
You didn’t open doors for me or pull out my chair. My mum always says that’s the measure of a man, and I should never put up with less than I deserve. You didn’t order my food for me, which is good, because I’d hate that.
You didn’t order the cheapest wine, or the most expensive. You didn’t even order one in between. Wine is tricky.
I’d like a wine right now, but I don’t have any left.
You didn’t tell me all about your life or ask about mine. I probably wouldn’t tell you the truth anyway.
You didn’t walk me home and kiss me on my doorstep, where my dad wouldn’t be twitching the curtains or giving you threatening stares and telling you to ‘make sure you don’t hurt my daughter’.
On the day of our first date, you didn’t turn up, and I suppose it was for the best, because everything about my life is best avoided.
No comments:
Post a Comment