Is this a date?

I was sweeping the verandah the other Saturday morning and talking to the tomato bushes. What? It’s good for them.

Anyway, I was heading off to my mate David Jane’s house for a pre-party drink later that night and for some reason, I was thinking about a dinner we went to about three years ago.

I stared at the wall for a moment, broom under my chin and then pictured Dave sitting across from me at the dinner.

“Oh shit!” my mouth verbalised what I was thinking. That was a date.

How on earth did it take me three years to realise I was on a date?

I arrived at his place later that afternoon.

“David Jane, I have a question for you.”

“Yes love, what is it?”

“Do you remember that time I went to dinner with you and your friends to that place in Potts Point?”

“Hmm.” He was nodding.

“Was that a date?” I asked quickly.

“It was for me.” He didn’t even have to think about the response. We snorted and giggled for ages.

It seems I’m not the only one who’s slow on the uptake. At nearly the same time, I had invited a potential over for dinner and nearly set the house on fire with candles.

Months later, catching up as friends, I told him that he’d been on a date. He nearly lost his right eyeball into his Diet Coke.

My dearly missed Bill, when he was still living in the apartment above me, added, “Yes, every time the floor heats up, I know Johnny is entertaining”.

So unless someone slaps me and tells me I’m on a date or I need to set the house on fire with candles to tell someone they are on a date, there is no sure way to know, is there?

One major way to know if you’re on a date with me, is usually because you’re at my house and you’re going to be fed chicken. Whether it is Cajun or Spanish depends on how much I like you. So it’s best to wear fire-retardant material in case the candles burst out of control.