Stranger Danger

I went to my great friend for dinner last night. Her boyfriend is staying with her, and she has yet to acclimatise. She keeps forgetting about him, and furiously excluding him from things such as this dinner. I’m not sure if he actually was out, or had just been summarily ordered to leave while we ate. My other friend was certain he was still in the flat, hiding nervously in the bedroom. (I have noticed people think it odd when you start opening cupboards in their bedroom so politely remained in the living room).

We had a lovely dinner. Everytime I go to someone else’s for dinner I pretend furiously that I am going to start eating better. I assumed for a long time that, like me, everyone else only ate properly when guests were over. Apparently that’s not true at all. People really do eat fish, even if it’s just them. Not everyone thinks a lump of cheese and a mars bar is a balanced dinner. (I tried to explain how comforting holding one in each hand was. This did not meet with the enthusiasm I expected).

My other friend (the one who wasn’t playing Fritzl with her boyfriend) arrived with a bottle of wine and some terribly posh apple juice. I arrived with myself. In my defence, I asked if there was anything I could bring. (It was perhaps a little late to ask this once I was in the flat). My friend was terribly gracious about the whole thing, and I made up for my lack of gift with an excess of wit. (Well, if I’m being honest, I spoke nearly incessantly about myself. I think that people like that). We were preparing to leave when my friend said cheerfully, ‘Go home soon! I mean, safe.’ I would have ignored this, except as we left, we noticed a sign on the front door (the proper front door, not the front door to my friend’s flat) that told us firmly to make sure the door was properly closed so as to refuse entry to ‘unwanted visitors’. It looked suspiciously like my friend’s writing. I do hope her boyfriend is OK.

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