“WHAT. THE. FUCK. JENNY?!” exclaimed the now rather red-faced Mickey. The quiet Italian bistro sat in shock and intrigue at his out-cry, hoping somehow that a sprinkling of drama could improve their somehow burnt spaghetti. Mickey (I think?) stood glaring over a plate of wet Melanzane and a rather unfazed Jenny, who merely replied with a confused glance.
“Jenny, why the FUCK did you- “Jenny, seemingly ignorant of her date’s outrage, calmly placed a finger on his lips. While this, much to the amusement of their audience, did indeed quieten Marcus down it also had the alarming effect of dyeing his face a hue of purple. Michelle just glared at his puzzled looking date, as if threatening to somehow turn blue with rage, before the sound of a swallow echoed through the restaurant.
“Sorry, couldn’t possibly reply with my mouth full, and didn’t want you saying something even more stupid before I got a chance to reply” She paused briefly, gently dabbing her face with a flimsy paper napkin.
“Now, are you ready to say sorry?” The colour drained from Max’s face in an act of sheer dumb-founded-ness.
“Apologise to you? You just slapped me!”
“Not to me no, that would be preposterous. I was talking about the Fly”
“Yes, the Fly. The Fly that you let latch onto your face. It’s just plain bad manners interrupting a date like that” Mickey, along with the restaurant, stared in visible confusion. Some used this confusion as an opportunity to eat their pasta without having to completely focus on the oddly satisfying crunch.
“But you killed it? Surely it’s you who should be apologising?”
“It’s not me who’s flaunting their face to insects like that. Look at you, red-cheeks, not a drop of insect repellent on you, you were just asking for that fly to kiss you, weren’t you?!” The colour of Merlin’s face had thankfully returned to a more agreeable shade.
“What the hell are you talking about? I didn’t ask for that Fly to be on my face and you didn’t have to slap me”
“Aha, so you going out exposed doesn’t mean your begging for some action. Well if that’s true why do you seem to assume that I want to have sex with you?!” She exclaimed with obvious triumph. “I saw the way you looked at my legs under the table Mark! I should have known by now that men like you are all the same; sexist hypocrites who have dominated history for too long!” This remark prompted a couple of whoops from the crowd.
“It’s Mick! And I was tying my shoe laces!” He turned to the other restauranteurs “I was just tying my shoe laces!”
At this point, it is important that I come clean. Matthew wasn’t lying, he was a simple man who just happened to have loose laces. The truth was that Jenny realised halfway through this date that she didn’t like Martin. After all, he had a stable well-paying job, great teeth and paid detailed attention to every syllable Jenny uttered. He was just brilliant. So ordinarily brilliant. The type of brilliant that can usually only be observed through a strong pair of Ganglian Beer Goggles and at least 3 Tekilla shots. If there was one thing Jenny couldn’t stand in her men, it was a man who restored your faith in humanity whilst making you feel silly for ever doubting in the existence of a benevolent god.
Jenny’s mother used to always tell her that she would one day be married to a man who would do great things. Jenny’s father often just sat there in silence. One of the many side effects that comes with being dead, though even that was preferable to her mother’s outdated belief. It was one of the few things these days that could reveal the existence of her gag reflex: the thought of proving her mother right. In fact, this idea was so repulsive, it led her to the discovery, and concequent application of, the revolutionary technique of date-escape she had just used; slapping your date right across the face and saying it was their fault. Simple, effective, fun for all the family.
She played back the scenario in her head: the slap had been executed perfectly, justified with a reason that was just ridiculous enough to work and had even succeeded in getting the spaghetti-stuffed crowd on her side. But it was only the first step. Now, it was time for the moment that separated the good from the great; the exit.
Possibilities washed over Jenny like a waterfall, each one teeming with drama and grandiose. There was the classic option of drowning the now depressed looking Marvin in her half-finished bottle of red wine, or maybe even the slightly less dignified move of making a confusingly feminist statement and walking out on her hands. She could scream about a fictional child whose father won’t now be allowed to raise him. She could simply just carry on as if nothing had happened and let Malachi do the walking out for her.
In the outer wastelands of the universe, regions populated by an unusually high concentration of the Crusaders of Meaning, the sentient life forms have come to depict fate as what can only be described as a dry version of an Earthling goat; stubborn and unusually off-putting. Regardless of the choices you make, you will always be lead to where you were intended to be. As Jenny’s mind finally settled on the ‘surprise-coming-out-and-ass-kicking’ technique, fate decided to put her on the right path with the subtlety of a note attached to a high-velocity brick aimed at the head. The same brick that sent Jenny flying into an unsuspecting bowl of Melanzane and knocked her unconscious
The crowd shrieked and rushed over, staring at the now unconscious Jenny, still obviously confused with what was happening.
They continued to stare as Jenny began to glow with a pale purple light…
As she dematerialised with the sound of a popping Lead balloon…
As their unexpected entertainment for the evening disappeared completely from existence.
And the only sound that could be heard was the occasional whimpering from Matteus.
 A delicious Aubergine based dish with the unfortunate appearance of a ripe cow pat.
 The ancestor of the popular earth drink, providing two times the fun and halving the drinker’s chance of a full recovery.
 …provided they aren’t being slapped.
 The collective name for people who are so at a loss of what to do they simply pick a direction and walk to look for an activity they may find remotely interesting. Coincidently, the first records of stamp collecting date back to the founding members of the Crusaders of Meaning.
 Judging by the amount of charcoal spaghetti hanging from their mouths.
 Or could it have been Mohammad?