I forgot to post about my blind date with Gerald last week. When I was guessing that he'd be a perve, and cheap, I was only half right. We went to The Ledbury in Notting Hill, and as we walked through the door, I realized Gerald wasn't cheap.

When he called for me, Gerald was wearing a pin stripe suit. You're probably having visions of Daniel Craig or Clive Owen. Think more in terms of a chubby lawyer with a jagged bowl cut--kind of Cadfael minus the monk's robes.

Getting out of the taxi, Gerald steered me forward by placing his hand on my lower back, dangerously close to my butt. Thank goodness I was wearing my airtight panties with massive coverage (my last line of defense when I haven't had time to do my laundry).

His touchy fingers put me on edge, but walking into The Ledbury pushed me into high alert. I was doing quick math: Saturday night plus pinstripe suit plus expensive dinner equals...I wonder what exactly Penni Penniwether had told him about me. I was quickly reconsidering my plan to supplement my severance pay with free dinners.

Fortunately, Gerald chatted constantly, which gave me a chance to gulp the Catena Zapata Malbec 2005 and eat more than my fair share of the foie gras (bless those geese and their fatty livers). I was so excited to eat that, for the first hour, I'm not really sure what he was talking about, I just caught some phrases. I'd take a sip, and hear "she still lives in that dreary council flat..", then a huge chunk of bread, and hear "that old slapper can't even turn on a computer, I don't know how she ever..." and so on.

After about an hour, I hit maximum satiation and really heard what he was saying for the first time, which was "I'm glad you can join us. Don't worry about mother, she really doesn't like any of the women I bring home." My mind started racing--what had I agreed to? I thought when I'd nodded my head and said yes it just meant that I wanted more wine. Turns out I'd agreed to some kind of fundraiser at his parents' house.

The waiter was taking away our dinner plates and like magic, I felt Gerald's pale, thin fingers on my thigh. If he got any sauce on my dress, I'd really be pissed off. I pushed off his hand and gave him a look. He wasn't phased in the least-he just smirked and said "it never hurts to try." This dinner was turning into a Benny Hill show. Any minute now he'd be chasing me around a table, and hilarity would ensue.

Right. Well, it was time to ditch this jackass. Years of experience taught me this would just end with Gerald trying to stick his tongue down my throat, and then I'd have to kill myself. Long story short, I grabbed my purse, said bye and thanks, and before he could follow me, I was in a taxi on my way home.