A Date With Destiny

 

What is this?

Why am I here? Wait, why is this guy with me?

Nope, this wasn’t a memory loss. More like loss of interest.

Who is this one? Surgeon? Teacher? Actor? Photographer? Thug? Goon? Non-existent?

Uggh god I wish I was that lucky.

“But in architecture, we’re always told,...”, he started, having finished slurping his soup, while the entire restaurant stared on in disgust and dismay.

Ahh right, this bore was an architect. Gotcha.

Right, I can go back to staring at the walls, and why shouldn’t I? Freaking expensive place this was, with its gloved waiters, gold plated cutlery, crystal chandeliers, it was mesmerising. Or maybe my lunatic blind date made me find beauty in my mundane surroundings.

Gahh! Get this over with!

 

“Hey! Did I lose you?”, he asked, smiling politely, waving a hand awkwardly in my direction.

 Honey, you’d lost me the moment I walked in here and you showed up with that face. What you did ever since was repel me, let’s get that out there.

 

But nope, I said none of that.

Instead, I did as a lady is expected to, I looked up at him, smiled sweetly, maybe a little too sweet and said with extreme sarcasm which of course went undetected by his tiny, incompetent brain, “Of course not! How could I, when you regale me with such fascinating tales of architectural wonders?”

He looked so pleased with himself, I instantly regretted having said anything at all. Great, now I’d brought upon another bout of self-appreciation.

So then I continued looking around. It went on for an excruciatingly long time.

Skipped dessert, told him I was mildly diabetic. Avoided his overbearing insistence to go “see his place”, said I had an early morning doctor’s appointment for a suspicious-looking rash. That shook him up sufficiently and avoided any further physical contact. I was glad, things had turned out so well today!

God, I couldn’t wait to crawl into bed now, and start a nice Netflix session with a pint of chocolate chip ice cream.

So I drove a 70 and reached home surprisingly fast, sooner than I’d thought.

Quickly parked the car and as I opened the front door of my tiny one-bedroom bungalow, I pulled out my phone and started texting my friends about yet another shit show, yet another disappointment, I wonder why they even tried anymore.

In came the replies, “Aww I’m so sorry, seemed like a really cool guy, this one”, another one read, “Again? Watcha do to guys, sister?”, oh yeah, that’s exactly what I wanted to hear. Thanks, sister.

Scowling slightly, I kept my phone down on the mantle, threw my keys in the Hello Kitty bowl kept by the door and walked straight into the kitchen.

Made a beeline for the refrigerator, picked up the ice cream tub in one hand and with the other I reached for a spoon in the top cabinet.

As I walked out, I flipped off the light switches and the whole place was engulfed in pitch darkness.

I trudged towards the bedroom, hoping I wouldn’t stub my toe.

Just as I passed through the living room on my way to the bedroom, I stopped dead in my tracks.

Slowly turned my head to the living room couch, I could roughly make out the silhouette of someone sitting there.

Ok, what?

My heart was racing, my mind went numb, and my throat became dry.

I stood there, rooted to the spot in sheer terror.

As I came back to my senses after what seemed like the longest 2 seconds of my life, I tried to quietly back away towards the foyer, my phone lay there on the mantle.

Should I make a run for it? Should I scream for help? A million thoughts rushed through my head.

Just as I moved ever so slightly, the person turned slowly and I froze.

“Hello, Amanda”, he said in a silken voice.

Instantly, my fingers clutched the ice cream tub tightly.

As he rose, I sprinted towards the foyer, but he was right there, blocking the entrance. Standing about 6 feet, dressed immaculately in a maroon and black checkered shirt with a smart black blazer and black jeans, tousled dark blonde hair, his dazzling blue eyes watched me carefully.

With a deft kick to his stomach, a quick push forwards, I brought him to the ground, where he lay, doubled over and in shock.

As I reached for the doorknob, he said, voice filled with pain, “How was the date with Alex? Diabetes sure was a good excuse.”

My hand paused at that.

How did he know that? Was he stalking me? Who is this creep?

“You’re wondering who I am, who is this creep”, he said.

I whirled around, surprised.

He was lying down, the amber light in my foyer glinting off his sharp jawline, as he regarded me shrewdly.

He rose slowly, I backed away.

In a clear, soft voice and a slight smile, he said, “I’m Cupid, the God of Love.”