Playing the dating game is not all knights and white horses. In the world of dating, the shire might turn out to be a shetland, the armour more like grandad's favourite cardy, all holes and lint.
And once dating has progressed to the point where it's all tongues and touch, there are the practicalities that need to be addressed. But alas the promise of prophylactics although necessary, is none too romantic.
A friend told the tale of her knight as they flounced and floundered he procured a holiday sized box of the before mentioned. Some were unpackaged and unfurled as the moon yawned and the stars twinkled. The night galloped ahead, and it was all pillows and talk. An engaging and satisfying evening.
The two were not to meet for a week or so. After dinner but before they flew between the sheets, prophylactics were again mentioned. She was a little perplexed as to why further rubber recruits would need to be bought as from memory the initial supply had been ample. Her brow furrowed but she didn't mention the absenteeism of the rubber friends. Perhaps, it was a memory lapse and they were simply gathering dust as they jogged towards their expiry date. Or perhaps not.
But as the days turned to weeks, she did wonder. Perhaps the barriers of the night were not simply absent they may have been unfurled somewhere a little remote, where the maidens were fair. Where libidos could saunter and roam and not be hindered by the constraints of the city or conscience. Or perhaps not.
And so in a game where as we mature, we assume we know and understand the rules, we are none the wiser. Actions and words seldom meld and things done and words uttered are often misunderstood and misinterpreted. The straight shooter is wished for but ne'er found.
Of course, questions could've been posed and answered but in the ensuing silence disappointment squandered promise.
As I sit with the dishwasher humming and the cat purring at my feet, I hope the night ahead will be fuelled by happy dreams, and as I wrest with a yawn... a little sleep.
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