Conversation

Since I have had Isabella in the house, a few things have changed. Obviously sleeping in is now a lot more difficult when she starts complaining about wanting food. She maybe small, but her cries can be quite insistent. Also, never one too excited about housework, it has even progressed further down the list of priorities - and frankly, I think having "stuff" around gives Isabella something to be amused by. The toilet lid is also always down now, since she had an aborted attempt at leaping into the bowl. But finally, the biggest change really has to involve my own behaviour. Contrary to popular opinion, I may talk a lot amongst people, but at home I don't say a word. I don't talk to myself - what am I TOTALLY crazy? (Ok, don't answer that.) But now, I talk all the time - ostensibly to Isabella.

"How was your day?"
"Did you miss me?"
"You are so beautiful, aren't you?"
"I love you lots and lots."
"Should I wear this?"
"Come here and give me a hug."
"Do you want to come to bed now?"

Uh huh, yes remember I am talking to a cat. So perhaps, I am a little crazy when my cat conversation resembles those of a partner. But strangely, her responses are still often more sensible than those of the men that have shared my life.

Once more into the breech, oh, and hand me another Shiraz

Last night I tried once more the foray into Speed Dating. This has never been a wholly successful venture for me. But try once more I did. This time, the evening was to be highlighted by wine tasting. I figured that it would at least give us something to talk about, and I could happily get inebriated, thus making my dates seem far more interesting than they might otherwise be.

Again another disaster of an evening ensued. The company who organsies these events is quite pedantic about there being even numbers of men and women. Once you book, there is no refund, so therefore you are beholden to come, or find a replacement if you cannot make it. Further, there are numerous reminder emails, and even on the night, when I was not there 15 mins after the arrival time (although it was still 15 mins before the official "start" time), I received a call from the host ensuring my attendance. So it was quite disappointing, when out of 10 men attending for the evening, 5 of them did not bother to show up. So instead of 10 dates, I had five with gentlemen, and five with the woman nearest me discussing all manner of topic. (And frankly, she was more entertaining than most of the men anyway.)

I did get one match-up out of the evening, so we shall see if we actually get a chance to get to catch-up again. I hold out no high hopes. The upshot of the entire evening was that I was able to get home earlier than anticipated and sleep blissfully with many wines under my belt. It is probably also of no surprise that by far the most interesting man there at the event, was the man serving the wine!

Pubis and parlance

I will restrain myself from my obvious desire to write about the gorgeous Miss Bella - although I will have to mention one quip from the vet. She had a vaccination the other day, and the vet did not win me over. During our consultation, he laughed at her and thought she was funny looking. He also accused me of trimming her whiskers and then declared that she was "a little overweight". He, ungraciously, pointed out where her fat was accumulating. I can tell you that no woman likes her fat pointed out, but when he started poking her pudenda, and declaring it fat - I took offence. A fat stomach is one thing, but what is she meant to do about a fat pubic mound? No crunches will flatten that out!

Anyway, off the kitty for a bit now. On to my last date that I had with a boy. I had coffee with this boy a week or so ago, as a means of determining whether or not I should see him again for an actual meal. After coffee, where he insulted my choice of coffee, while he had juice (!), I thought that I would rather not see him. But two days later, he rang to ask me to dinner, I accepted. God knows why I accepted his invitation. Too gutless to say no I suppose. So, we come to the date night.

Much to my chagrin, I agreed also to meet at his place, and go from there to dinner. So I climbed into his very sensible car, and we began to go. He then apologised and said that he had to quickly pop by his mothers place to fix something for her. A short digression, and then straight on to dinner. So I sat in the car, while he attended to his mother - WHO LIVES AROUND THE CORNER FROM HIM! Strike One.

He parked the car and we began making our way up and down Acland Street, looking for somewhere for dinner. This informal nature or trying to find somewhere for dinner on a Friday night is ok with friends, but annoys greatly on a date. It was whilst walking that I noted his very 80's brown leather deck shoes. Strike Two.

We sat and ordered dinner. At this point, he declared that he had been out for a big lunch, and wasn't even that hungry. NOTE TO ALL MEN: If you know you are going on a date that evening - DO NOT LARD UP AT LUNCH AND THEN MAKE YOUR DATE FEEL UNCOMFORTABLE WHILE SHE WANTS TO EAT SOMETHING!

So, I ate my food, while he sat there and made banal conversation, seeming to care little for my responses or thoughts. When finally I was able to contribute to the conversation, I unleashed my witty best. I pulled out good comedic form, to watch it whither, when following a particularly witty riposte, he paused, contemplated, and then laughed. Everyone knows that comedy is often about timing, so watching his countenance mull over my comment before laughing, tarnished my otherwise sparkling repertoire. Strike Three......

But at the end of the night, did I say, "thanks, but no thanks"? Of course not. Neither did I promise future engagements. What did I do? I said nothing except, "Thanks", and avoided his follow-up phone calls. Not very balls-y or feminist of me, but baby steps people... baby steps!