That awkward first date

What do you do?

Oh, I'm just an office manger.

Do you?

Do I what?

Manage.

Well, barely.

In the nude?

No, but sometimes by the skin of my teeth.

You know I used to be a man?

I wouldn't have guessed. Surgery?

No, I mean I used to be a man in a past life.

In a life before this one?

Yes.

I see.

Do you?

Normally with both eyes, but the left one's a little short-sighted.

You're funny.

I like to see the sunny side.

No, I meant you're peculiar.

So, how long have you been playing the game?

Are you insinuating I'm a prostitute?

No – no! I meant the dating game. How long have you been at it?

Banging away?

Well, I wouldn't put it that way exactly.

And exactly how would you put it?

I'm sorry?

What for: what you've done or what you're about to do?

I'm not sure.

Are you a rapist?

God, no.

How would I know you weren't?

I don't know.

You don't know whether you're a rapist or not? I like spontaneity in a man. But I hate unpredictability.



The conversation continued. He couldn't prove he wasn't a pederast or rapist and neither could she prove was she wasn't a serial killer nor mass eugenicist – in this life or those past. They had become stale mates and agreed to stick to their same separate ways.