Post 1258 - Addendum to Post 1257

I thought about just editing yesterday's post  to include this information, but that would mean that folks who had already read it would be unlikely to see it.  So, you can think of this as the rest of the story.

I wrote last evening about the worst date of my life.  I forgot to mention that prior to the beginning of "Silence of the Lambs", I asked the young lady why I hadn't heard from her for a while.  We had spoken on the phone, you see. 

"Well, if you must know, I've been in the hospital."

I was concerned in the way that a guy who is potentially romantically interested in a woman would be concerned.  "Oh, no.  I'm sorry to hear that.  I hope it wasn't serious."

"I spent a month in the NS."

For those of you who don't live in Nova Scotia, "The NS" is short for the Nova Scotia Hospital.  It is where folks with severe mental health concerns can end up, at least if they live in the greater Halifax area.  

The rest of the story: her enthusiasm for the film, her inquiry about firearms, you already know.

But, there is one other part of the story.

I have told this story before, as you will soon learn.

Back in... 1996 or so, the late and extremely lamented CJCH was offering tickets to a death by chocolate event at a local hotel.  In order to go, you had to call in and discuss the worse date of your life.  I'll never forget the woman who called in and talked about the date she had with a fella.  All during dinner, he was talking to her, with a piece of pasta stuck between his teeth and hanging from them.  I don't think she went out with the dude a second time.

Upon reflection, I decided to call in.  I told them what I told you in the previous post, plus some of what I mentioned in an earlier paragraph.  John Biggs and Kelli Rickard laughed pretty hard and were only too happy to award me these tickets.  Patricia and I enjoyed the chocolate fountain, the chocolate-covered strawberries, and all the other chocolate treats they threw at us that evening.  I probably put on 5 pounds that evening.  Patricia, of course, maintained her svelte figure.

I don't spent much time thinking about that young lady.  I do hope that her considerable mental health issues were addressed in a satisfactory fashion.  I hope she's happy.   And I hope for the sake of the person she was mad at that she was never able to source a firearm.

But I'll still run if I see her again.

Wouldn't you?

Bevboy