Friends help me out. I am going to tell you a story but it must remain between us. If my good friend Ed ever finds out, my goose will be cooked.
You all know that I have been single for all my life. No lady has every been able to pin me down. Personally I do not think anyone tried very hard, but that is something else. The life of a single guy is rough. Very tough. We wake up whatever time we want to; we go out whenever we want to; we come back whenever we want to; we wear whatever we want to. Believe me this is pure torture. No one tells us when to go to bed or wake up or eat. Shopping is a breeze; we can be in and out of the mall in 15 mins. It is awful 
but something that many men would kill for.
My cousin often yells out, “Let me have some peace. I will kill the next person who calls me Dad!” I guess calling him dad at that moment was not a good idea.
OK, so now I am dating a lovely woman and I was just introduced to a new terrible ailment – the wait!
I decided to take Sharon to the gym with me. Sport is a similar interest we have. We had a dinner engagement at 8pm and so at 7pm I suggested that we go and shower so that perhaps we can have an espresso together. She liked the idea. I went in to the men’s changing rooms as I have been banned from the women’s changing rooms.
I had a great motion and then I shaved, showered, got dressed and perfumed myself and waddled out. 7:25pm, more than enough time for an espresso before we leave. But where is Sharon?
I took my time because I went to the toilet, where is she? Shall I order an espresso for us or shall I wait? Where is she? Is she talking to someone in the lounge? Where could she be? After waiting a day, OK 15 minutes, I called her mobile. No answer. Has she been swallowed up? Have aliens abducted her? Scotty still up to his old tricks? Where could she be? She cannot possibly be still in the changing room, could she? Could she? “Sharon, Sharon, are you in there? Do you need to be rescued?” No answer? I sat on one of the chairs in the lounge.
Do I have time to drink an espresso? Catch a nap? Read tomorrow’s newspaper? How long do I have? Glancing at my watch I notice that the time is 8:05, so no way we will be across town by 8pm, unless it is 8am.
Eventually she marches out of the changing room. “Been waiting long?” Hell, yeah. “Sorry about that, I was getting ready. How do I look?”
I guess telling her that she looked the same as when she went into the shower was not the right answer. I will see Sharon again when my black eye heals.
I do not like being kept waiting.
