I apologise

 Dear Janet,

I’m writing to apologise once again for the other night. It was all totally my fault, and I fully understand you not wanting to answer the phone to me. I hope that you’ll find it in your heart to read this letter, even if I am beyond forgiveness.

I’m not good with women, not as an awkward teenager and not as an even more awkward adult. It’s nerves. I’m sure that if I could only relax and be myself things would be better, but I accept one of my faults is I try too hard. When Julie arranged our blind date I was convinced that no normal woman would want to go on a date with me, and when I saw just how extraordinarily beautiful you looked, I thought you couldn’t possibly be my date for the evening.

On reflection, it makes perfect sense that you should bring a chaperone for the initial meeting. Even though Julie is a mutual friend, you had no idea who I might be. I could have been some terrible freak, or Julie’s idea of a joke. So I understand now why you would be reluctant to meet me alone and vulnerable. And I think it’s terribly endearing that you should choose your mother as your chaperone. After all, a girl’s best friend is her mum.

And so I can only apologise for flirting so outrageously with your mother when we met. I was convinced you were too beautiful to be my blind date, and your mother looks remarkably young for her age. In my defence, your mother didn’t correct me, and I felt she remained with us a little longer than was strictly necessary. Incidentally, I wonder if you could explain this to her for me? She has texted me several times, and whilst she is a lovely lady, I really don’t think it would work between us.

As for the restaurant, again, I put my hand up. It was my fault. I should have researched it more thoroughly. I had never been there before, and I made assumptions that in hindsight I was wrong to make. When Julie told me your parents were Scandinavian I panicked. I wanted to make as good a first impression with you as I could, but my knowledge of Scandinavian haute cuisine starts and stops with Swedish meatballs. I only wanted to make you feel at home, and so I scoured the local directory for a Scandinavian restaurant. I swear on all I hold dear I thought it said Lap Dining Club. I expected dishes of roast reindeer. I was as mortified as you when Trixie’s bra landed in my dip. You were right afterwards when you said I should have handed it back, but in a blind panic I stuffed it down my shirt in the bizarre hope that you hadn’t noticed. I know that sounds stupid when I say it now, but fear does strange things to a person’s reasoning.

As for black eye, that was totally my fault again. I reiterate, I was not making a lunge for you, and by that point in the evening any hope of even a chaste goodnight kiss had disappeared. The truth of the matter is, Trixie’s bra had worked its way down and as we stepped outside the clasp reached a rather sensitive spot, causing me to convulse in surprise. I was horrified when our heads made contact, and I hope that you will take into consideration that I did drive you to the emergency room myself rather than wait for an ambulance.

So all in all, I don’t think you saw me in my best light. I understand if you never want to see me again. However, I meant what I said about you being extraordinarily beautiful, and I would love to make it up to you. If you are willing, could I ask for a second chance? Julie told me you are a nurse. It just so happens there’s a little cinema in town showing a hospital drama. So please either phone or text me (your mother has my number) and let me know if you want to see ‘Nadine, Night Nurse’ at the Spy See Cinema this weekend.





About snodlander
Snodlander is the nom de plume of Bob Simms. He is an IT trainer, but it's not as glamourous as it sounds. When he's not enthralling classes with adventures through SQL Server, he writes, draws and drinks his own home-brew. Buy his novel on Amazon Kindle at The Young Demon Keeper, It's 74p, for crying out loud!

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