On a date with Mr P or the unbearable lightness of being

Mr P, probably the best kisser in the world, is, as I have written earlier, a man who has never made me miserable. He was always a source of pure joy and happiness, and I must say, he still is. At least if I keep it to a selected part of our conversation from yesterday:

Mr P: I must say you don’t disappoint me; I have always said that being with you was DIFFERENT…
(…like the choice of this restaurant. What on earth am I eating?)

Mr P: Back then I was totally crazy about you. You could have asked me to make a salto mortale, and I had done it.
(Me: I want to see that salto mortale, show it to me now.)
(Mr P: Now? Now I am just wondering how the heck I could have been so crazy about you back then.)

Mr P: I used to love your butt, but your breasts, wow! I must admit that when I saw you at the hotel lobby, I right away undressed you in my imagination.
(Me: If you invite me to your hotel room, I let you see my breasts.)
(Mr P: Øh, hm, sorry, not interested. I said that I undressed you….)



Remember? I don't really.