Something a bit more like this ...
5.30pm Hmm. Should you wear this black Lycra miniskirt? Do you look too stripper? Do you look too Budget Linda Lovelace? Do you look like a dumpling stuffed down a drain pipe?
5.35pm Ask your housemate, "Do you think I should wear this?"
They say, "Sure, it looks fine ... " Fine? Fine?! You might as well have said you look like the love child of Jenny Shipley and the Interislander ferry. Now you have to change.
6.30pm There's nothing else to wear. There's nothing. YOU OWN NOTHING! Your choices are the skirt, a bath towel or growing your pubic and leg hair out until they form a fur covering over your lower half.
7.00pm Shit - you were supposed to be there at 6.30! TAXI!
7.10pm Hope that there's a violent storm so you look windswept when you get there. That way, when they ask why you're late you can sigh dramatically and say - it's a long story! I won't bore you with the details! - and look tragically into the distance. #deep.
7.15pm He's not here yet. Jesus Christ.
7.16pm Drink? Drink? Drink? Drink? Drink? Drink...
7.17pm No! Stay classy! Tonight you are pure class. You're Pippa Middleton! You're Princess Diana! You're ...
7.17.30s pm ... getting a double vodka soda.
7.25pm Wtf. Where is he???? And this skirt is so tight that it's shrunk your bladder to the size of a pea. You've gone to the bathroom so many times the waiter is eyeing you for signs of nosebleeds.
7.35pm Aha! He's here. He thought it was 7.30. Of course it was. You just wanted to be here early to ... sample the soggy tapas that should actually be renamed unidentifiable-meat-paste-on-stale-bread-but-we-called-it-something-exotic-so-we-could-triple-the-price-and-justify- minuscule-portions.
7.40pm Is he wearing Chanel Bleu?
7.41pm Oh God, he ordered a vodka coke. What is this? Year 12? Friday night at Code? What's next? Lynx body spray? Drunk selfies? The white man dance where you move your fist, and only your fist, backward and forward like you're hammering something in?
7.42pm But he is wearing Chanel Bleu ... that cologne could make a packet of Weetbix sexy.
7.45pm Actually, this isn't too bad. He's got a job. A seemingly stable family environment. No visible sores.
8.00pm He's nice! Nice! Yes! Except what is the deal with that jumper? It looks like its pattern was inspired by radioactive spaghetti.
8.01pm Bugger the jumper. Oh, this is it. I can tell. This is it. This is it. This is it. This is ...
8.02pm Ooh ... a Snapchat ...
8.03pm This is it ... this is it ...
8.03pm MY BODY IS READY.
8.04pm "So yeah, that's why I'm a Young Nat ... "
8.05pm ... ...
8.06pm Did you hear that? That was the sound of my sex drive disintegrating and exiting my body leaving nothing but the smell of broken dreams and Smirnoff.
8.07pm Seriously? A Young Nat? Christ alive. Why?! Born again Christian! Muesli enthusiast! Tupperware collector! Anything but a Young Nat! No, I'm sorry. I'd sooner date a bollard.
8.08pm Thank God. The phone! It's your housemate!
"Hey Vee, can I use your milk?"
"Oh my God, Matilda! What do you mean you're bleeding?!"
"What?... no, can I use your milk?"
"AAAAH! HOW MUCH?"
"Errr ... for some cereal ... I'm hungry ... "
"JESUS! YOU NEED AN AMBULANCE!"
"No ... I just need more self- discipline to go to the supermarket more frequently ..."
"I'M COMING TO SAVE YOU!"
8.10pm Waddle out the bar as fast as your Lycra gastric band will let you. Fantasise about how in a half an hour you will be lying naked on the sofa eating cornflakes from the box ...
8.11pm Soon, my low-fat-high-sugar-corn derivatives. Soon, my pretties.
