Apple Pie Order!

Apple Pie Man, was an all American guy (what else, with a nom de plume like that!) who had moved to the UK a couple of years before I met him - blonde, blue eyed and with teeth so white he could have given Mr. Socks a run for his money on the gleaming veneers front!

We agreed to meet in my local pub/restaurant and I should have known that maybe I was dated out and cynicism had begun to set in when I booked the table and the landlord, who I'd known for about 6 years asked 'Do I know this one, Daisy ... or do you want me to pretend you don't come here often?'

So cruel...but, to be fair, I had bought about ten different dates there over the preceding 6 months on the basis it was safe (if date turned out to be mad) and five minutes walk from my house so I could be home in front of the TV with a glass of wine (if date turned out to be dull)...

Apple Pie Man was everything his photos and profile promised - just not a lot more - as two dimensional as his online profile and clearly not a believer in self-deprecating humour!

After I paid for supper, without even the pretence of him whipping out his own credit card, I foolishly let him walk me the 100 metres to my front door and, even more foolishly, when confronted with that awkward moment, when we should have parted company never to see each other again, I invited him in for coffee...which, on this occasion, was certainly not intended as a euphemism for something more exciting than a mug of Gold Blend. 

I merely didn't know what else to say. Bad idea as, because I had no de-caf, he would only drink water. Desperately scrabbling for conversation over a glass of Southern Water's finest, whilst blinded by his Colgate smile, my eyes locked on some apple pies I'd made earlier. With a meaningful glance at the front door, I swept one into a freezer bag and handed it to him - 'For when you get home.'

Well, at least I didn't offer him me for dessert ...NEXT!