Nora Linton arrived home at eight twenty seven p.m, and plopped into the fat chair. Another waste of an evening. Another.
She went over the disaster of a date.
She was to meet him at Peppers at seven, then they’d go to dinner.
She’d dashed from work early to get home, shower, style her hair, make up her face, pull on her outfit and race out to be on time. She was a few minutes early, thought he would be waiting. He wasn’t.
At seven fifteen, when she was about to leave, a man meandered in gave her a look; “You Nora? I’m Stan.”
His hair was messy, he was dressed in jeans and a tee shirt just this side of rubbish. He moved to the bar, ordered a drink then, as an afterthought asked if she wanted anything.
Nora didn’t say a word, shook her head waiting for the apology for lateness.
If this was the first time she’d met a guy like this it would be bad. But it wasn’t. It was just one of a number of horrible dates she had over the past two years.