So, apparently it is still Valentine's. That was two days ago, morons. But I've seen shops still display Valentine's banners and selling the stuff they didn't manage to sell on the actual day itself. Tell me if I'm wrong, but teddy bears with pink hearts will keep for another year. Hell, they manage to fight off Dr Coldheart on a regular basis, so who not just use them next year? Idiots!
Anyway, so, yeah, on Monday I dated myself. It wasn't in any way difficult and was, in fact, really quite pleasant. I went for a leisurely walk with myself around the delights of the local neighbourhood... until a bus went past and I flagged it down. It was cold and windy, and I was trying to look nice so I didn't have my raincoat on. So I got on the bus.
I took myself to Old Orleans. I've never been there on my own before, and to be honest, it's not exactly a place one can go on his own. A sandwich bar, surely. Pasta place? Fine. Pizza buffet... yeah, bring it on. It's always nicer for two, but on one's own it's pretty okay. But I waltzed into Old Orleans anyway and got a table for... two. Well, the concept of a table for one doesn't really exist, especially if said tables are square. I turned on the charm and was polite, if not flirtatious, enough to get served swiftly, the main advantage of dating oneself being that you know exactly what you want, almost immediately before you sit down. I ordered their veggie burger and one of their non-alcoholic cocktails, and got it promptly enough.
I had a conversation in my head (as opposed to my usual internal monologue) as the rest of the place filled up with couples. I didn't have too many odd looks, although I was afraid that somebody may assume I'd been stood up, even though the staff knew differently.
Enigmatic mode, activate! I HAVE OVER 9,000 ENIGMAS! (And other such clichés.)
Ordered their mint chocolate surprise thingy for dessert after detoxing on water. I almost conquered it. Almost. I was enjoying it for a while, particularly the sticky chocolate brownie section, but when I got two thirds of the way down, I kind of stopped enjoying it. My mind flashed back to Grandpa and the Pink Volcano, which I red at the age of about a month and a half. "The Pink Volcano took ages to eat." But I'm older, wiser and single. I ferreted out the bits of meringue and ate them, and then admitted defeat.
Detoxed on water (again!), and then paid £22 for the meal, which - although steep - is considerably less than paying £400 to go to Center Parcs. Although, as much as I enjoy my own company, I would have preferred that instead. Nevertheless, it was a cheap(ish) date. I decided to stop by at a bar on the way home - tottering down the steps to Tesco to get some money out for this purpose was only a slight detour, but I remember it because I almost threw up in my mouth a little - but the only bar in our town appeared to be closed. So I just took a sojourn home, with no wish to actually drag on the evening and distract from the main focus, which was - of course - food.
I got home in time for Glee and inadvertently interrupted my sister, who was having a romantic meal with one of her best friends (whose boyfriend is a lame-ass and was on jury service, thus unable to take her out... allegedly). Nothing else happened of note, but then again, with the multitude of possibilities, it's probably best that it didn't!