Wednesday, November 28, 2007

Few Dates. . .

. . .that I've been on could be described as bloody awful.

Last night's was an exception.

Our dinner conversation was as tough as my Cobb Salad. We glanced around the room, wanting, at other tables where people were enjoying themselves.

I walked her to her door. Grasping for something to say, I utter what will easily become one of the lamest statements in the history of courtship.

"You sure have a lot of gravel in your driveway."

It's so rare that a statement so completely defines a moment.

This was one such occasion.

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