You smiled at me and I immediately started feeling things. You asked me where I was going and I lied to you that I was looking for a perfect place to read my book. I wanted to sound smart. You stepped out of your car, took my hand and said, "It would be an honour to show you the perfect spot to read your book.” I felt more things.

I apologized to my future cat in my head. I said, "Sorry cat. Looks like I won’t be needing you, after all.” Future cat? Yes. The cat I was going to get if or when I ended up alone. You opened the door for me and gently closed the door and I started planning the wedding. I am a sucker for chivalry.

I wondered why all the men in the world weren’t just like you. Why, for instance, couldn’t that Peter person I once almost went out on a date with, borrow a leaf from you? He had shown up and remained seated in his car. When we got to the restaurant, he opened the door, got in and then just let it go. It almost hit me in the face! I was so mad that I just walked away, got a moto and went home. I never spoke to him again. I decided that I would call him that night, to give him your number so he could come for lessons in common courtesy.

My first date with you was in a restaurant fancy. I know you thought that your jokes were funny and that that’s why I was laughing hard. But to be honest, I was just making up for all the emotions that I couldn’t express. Village excitement was top on the list. Everything was perfect until our conversation began.

Until then, it hadn’t occurred to me that we had been talked about you the whole time. Your great job. Your great house. Your great car. Your great life. The warning signs had been there the whole time and I had just ignored them.

But then you asked me about my job and no sooner had I begun to explain to you than you started making suggestions. "You need to do something more serious. You studied Statistics. Pursue it.” "No, I don’t like it.” "You will learn to like it. You just need guidance.” And then it struck me; I was seated face to face with a mister-know-it-all.

I was angry with the little man who wears dresses and carries a bow and arrow. Cupid. He had brought me you, of all men. It’s no wonder that his name rhymes with stupid.

We talked about my hair and you let me know you’d want it long. We talked about my shoes and you said I would look sexier in heels. Never mind that they hurt my poor back. We talked about my choice of food and you thought it would be wiser to order something healthy.

I endured your company to the end but I knew that there wouldn’t be a forever, not even a second date. For days, I have been looking for the appropriate term to define our encounter. I finally found it; it was nothing more than an interruption of my aloneness.