Chips

So what did I do? I called and she wasn't in. I popped out to get a chippy tea and she had called back three times. In case you're not up to speed I'm talking about Pat, a lady I am yet to meet from the Personal Ads. Not about Meryl, my model 'girlfriend' of a month who has yet to furnish me with a cuddle. After a hearty fish supper, and a lengthy succession of burps, I picked up the receiver to dial Pat's number only to find her rather spookily on the end of the line. It seems I had inadvertently dialled her number and she stayed on the phone to listen to the rustling of chip papers, chomping of chips and my passing of gas. It didn't seem to phase her though as she enthusiastically launched herself into conversation like a puppy chasing a ball. And a leaden, overstuffed ball at that. As I adjusted my belt and trousers to a more loose fitting, for digestive purposes I might add, she rather brazenly asked me out. Feeling a little dazed I agreed. Now I am, in the words of Natalie Imbruglia, 'Torn'.