The other day I suprised myself by agreeing to go out on a date. That’s just not me.  I’m the kind of girl that gets to know someone, and then after being friends for a while, take things to the next level. I’m not the kind of girl who “dates”. But low and behold, I agreed to go out for a coffee with this guy. Let’s call him Keith. So, Keith is a friend of my ex-boyfriend, tacky, I know. Personally, I wouldn’t ever attempt to flirt with a girl my mate’s already been with- who wants sloppy seconds? But after hearing from his other friend that Keith never asks girls out for coffee, I didn’t have the heart to turn him down.

Coincidentally, Keith happens to share the same birthday as me, and lives a few streets away from me. How freaky… I thought to myself that perhaps that was some sort of sign, so he picked me up and we went out to a quiet cafe.

I could tell he was a little nervous, but then again, so was I. I kept finding that I was resting my head on my hands, almost shielding my face from him, like a physical barrier to avoid him looking at me, picking out all my flaws. I guess either he really didn’t give a shit what I thought, or he was really nervous, because for about two and a half hours, all he could talk about was his experience with drugs and how LSD “changed his life” (for the better, might I add). I can’t say I was overly thrilled by his interest in recreational drugs, but hey, who am I to judge? I’ve done my fair share of “frowned-upon” activities too.

After we (or rather, he) had run out of things to talk about, he dropped me off at the local library where I was to explain the entire date to my friend Angel, who laughed out loud, with pity. What an eventful date…

Safe to say I picked up my oar and paddled as far away as I could.