Finally rescheduled the curry date with my hairdresser. Ended up back at hers. Here's what happened:
Restaurant looks packed. Emma holds the door open for me. Waiter asks if we've booked.
"No, is that a problem?" I enquire.
The man steps back, strokes his goatee and invites me to survey the dining room. Not one spare table.
"Well, how long is the wait?"
We order some drinks and make ourselves comfortable on an old leather sofa in the lobby. An arctic draught tickles our ankles every time the door opens. Emma looks freezing.
"New trainers?" she asks.
"No, not these," I lie. "Look at all the scuffs."
Half an hour later we're hurried to a table beside a man wearing a cravat and his expensively decorated wife.
Emma challenges me to stick a whole onion bhaji in my mouth. Easy. Cravat Man adjusts his napkin and glances over with a scowl.
Try to look interested as she chats about her day. Girl talk. Thankfully the waiter interrupts with our mains. Two jalfrezis. She wants to taste some of my garlic naan.
"Should have ordered some yourself," I say.
She laughs - thinks I'm joking.
My girl heads to the bog. Got a bit of bellyache myself. Scrape some chicken on to her plate - don't want to appear lightweight.
We're both too stuffed for dessert. Pay the bill without checking the damage. Emma's clearly impressed. Machine asks if I'd like to leave a gratuity. Press 'no'.
"Fancy going for a drink somewhere?" I say.
"Why don't we get a six pack and walk along the beach instead?"
It's the middle of winter. This girl has a screw loose. Guess that's why I like her.
The Irish Sea looks angry as we step on to the firm sand with a carrier bag full of cheap lager. Emma's talking but the wind steals her words.
We find shelter in a dune and chat about books, aliens and how I used to get warts as a boy.
"Isn't this romantic," she whispers, but I'm distracted by a rumble in my tummy.
"That was my stomach, by the way - not my bum," I say.
"Thanks for the clarification."
Time to put the feelers out.
"So, you got to get back for the babysitter, then?" I enquire.
"No, Chris is at his dad's again."
"Cool. Tell me more about his dad - how long have you been separated?"
"I told you last time, I don't really want to talk about it."
"It's okay. Look, it's getting late. Do you want to walk me home?"
We bury our empty cans in the sand and set off towards her flat.
Emma sketches a penis on the frozen windscreen of a Ford Fiesta. Her testicles are massive.
"You're going to be disappointed if you think mine are that big," I quip.
"Well I've got no intention of finding out just yet," she says, as we step on to her porch. "Though you can stay over if you want?"
Patience, Fishy - patience.
Need a wee. Toilet seat isn't fitted properly. Have to hold it upright as I piss. She'll have to get that fixed. Brush my teeth with an index finger while weighing myself on her bathroom scales.
Emma's folding some washing as I venture into the bedroom. Grab her round the waist and start nibbling her ear cartilage. We collapse on to the bed - so much for not doing anything.
She asks me to turn away. Probably going to surprise me with some sexy lingerie.
"You can look now."
A laboured smile decorates my face as I swivel to see her wearing pink Betty Boop pyjamas.
We cuddle under the sheets. Arch my bum back a few inches so she doesn't notice the little stiffy poking through my boxers.
Emma dozes off. Erection isn't waning. Whisper her name. No response. I rise slowly and creep towards the door - going to sort myself out in the bathroom.
Only takes a few minutes. Goes everywhere. Good job she's got laminate.
Skulk back into bed. Soon drop off. Next thing I know it's morning and I'm being ordered out.
"Chris is getting dropped off soon," she explains.
"Can't I meet him?"
"I think it's a bit soon for that."
"Fair enough - you don't want to introduce him to any old bloke, I suppose."
"Well, sort of. Anyway, enjoy the walk of shame."
"You mean the stride of pride?"
She giggles while leading me to the door. Pull away from our goodbye kiss - her breath stinks.
Can sense my girl waving from the window but I don't look up - got to keep her guessing.
Going to suggest a day trip for our third date. A stroll in the countryside or something. Then she'll come back to mine. No Betty Boop pyjamas there. Or laminate.