Have decided to get Mother off my back and allow her to set me up with her hairdressers, cousin's, best friend (or some such). Made it clear am doing this out of the goodness of my heart as no man should be denied the best time of their life by spending half an hour with me. Also, Mother has offered to cut my mountaining debt with her in half. Still leaves a fairly high hill in funds I owe her though. No matter, can always fake a marriage proposal one day to get rid of the rest.
Have decided on bright pink ostrich feather dress with purple tights. If a man can still hold a conversation with me whilst I sup on oysters wearing this, he may be a keeper. Blind Date arrives at my abode on time - I like that in a man. It shows strength of character (and also an understanding of the time/space continuum). He is tall, skinny, pasty and bookish. First impressions to scale of what a Blind Date should look like. A loser.
When I finally see his eyes through my feathers, I can see they are lit up with undisguised lust. Unfortunately, I have seen that look before, and it's not for me. "Wow!" he exclaims. "Do you have many dresses like that?". Sigh. Obviously, Mother has set me up to fail. I decide I'm better off going with it - could be fun. Graciously guide Blind Date through to boudoir and into walk-in closet/second bedroom. He is agog. "Do you mind if I take a look?" he hesitatingly asks as he fingers a black velvet gown. I know where this is leading and leave him to it with firm instructions not to stretch anything.
4 bottles of champagne later and my newest friend is dancing on my Ikea leopard print rug with all the enthusiasm of Lady GaGa at a gay nightclub. Except Blind Date isn't gay. He lures me forward with one of my Louis Vuitton scarves and has that other look of undisguised lust in his eye.
3 hours later and my newest friend has me in stitches. Literally. We were having such a good time rolling around on the couch I fell off it and onto an empty champagne bottle which had the audacity to break on my firm and pert backside. Ouch! Am at hospital being the world's most sexy and glamorous pin cushion. Luckily, am numbed by 3 of the 4 bottles of champagne plus some local anaesthetic. Blind date was holding my hand but alas, he is now on the bed next to mine with a bandaged head due to it hitting the floor upon his swooning faint. Like the trooper he is, he made sure my cream Chanel suit was not bloodied by ensuring the nurses took it off him before he was moved from the floor. Night nurses seeing the many things that they do, didn't even shake their heads at the sight of my matching Chanel lace underwear covering his nether regions.
Blind date (now New Friend) sees me home in taxi. Invite him in but only to clean up the mess he's made. New Friend states that he will but "only if I can wear a French Maid outfit". But of course.
Saved from the sight of geeky French Maid by former Glam Rock singer Gary Glitter on phone ring tone (it's a dull world without some glitter!). Best Friend calling. Something about V.D. being back. Protest loudly that as I have advised her before I am not interested in her sex life, and less interested on the outcome should she behave like a teen and not use proper precautions. "No! Not that type of V.D!" She lowers her voice into a whispered warning. "The worse kind. SHE'S back". I drop the phone. Am stunned. Shaken to my core. Best Friend is of course talking about my Old School Enemy. The gorgeous, smart, funny and popular - Veronica Dale. I HATE her!!!
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