Luke's Diary: An Unlucky Man In A Zombie Apocalypse. Entries 757 to 956

Entry 948: Thursday 2nd May 2019

Entry 948
Thursday 2nd May 2019

I've just got back home from my date. All I can say is.... OH... MY... GOD...!

I was having an OK day. Sweeping the roads, cleaning up rubbish and picking up sh*t in Cowes wasn't getting to me as much as it did yesterday. The sun was shining, it was a nice day and most importantly, people were leaving me alone.

It was in the evening when all the drama started. I was getting ready for my date and right on cue, Mum was right there with a handful of put-downs and criticisms. I was stood in front of the fire place in the living room looking in the mirror, adjusting the collar on my shirt and sorting my hair when Mum came and stood next to me with a tense look on her face that suggested I was doing something wrong. "What?" I bluntly said. "Well, are you sure what you want to style your hair like that?" said Mum, "I mean you've not got much hair, so what hair you have got left I wouldn't do that with it. It looks like you're trying too hard." "Well it's my hair and I like what I've done with it," I said. "You've put a lot of gel in it," said Mum, "It looks really wet." "Have you got somewhere else to be?" I bluntly said. "No," said Mum, "Leo's asleep so I thought I'd come and help you get ready for your date. What's that smell?" "What smell?" I said. "That perfumey smell," said Mum, "Like a scent." "It's my aftershave," I said. "Is it?" said Mum, "It's really overbearing. I mean, I like how it covers up that usual smelly stench you give off, but it's a bit strong sausage. You don't want to put her off do you?" "Mum, when I start giving you advice on how to dress for your dates, you can give me advice on how to dress for my dates." "Oh, don't be silly sausage," giggled Mum, "I don't need advice on how to dress when I have a date. I go on lots of dates and I always dress to impress. I look a million dollars when I leave this house to go on a date." "And you come back looking like a crack addict with a hangover," I said. "That's the sign of a good night out," said Mum, "Anyway the point I'm making is that I don't need help and advice when it comes to dating because I get a lot of dates. You do need help and advice when it comes to dating because you get next to no dates. You giving me advice on dates is like Scooby Doo giving Sherlock Holmes advice on how to be a good detective." I ignored Mum and carried on titivating myself. I again noticed the painful look on my Mum's face. "What now?" I bluntly said. "I never said a word," said Mum. "You don't need to," I bluntly said, "Your face says it all. So, come on. Out with it." "Well, are you really going to wear that shirt?" asked Mum. "What's wrong with this shirt?" I asked. "Well, it's just a bit..." said Mum, stopping to think. "What?" I snapped. "Camp," said Mum. "Camp?" I said. "Yeah," said Mum, "I mean you don't want her to think you're gay, do you? I mean most people think you're gay at the best of times, so you don't want to go around wearing shirts like that and making things worse." "Why would a gay man be going on a date with a woman?" I bluntly said. "For lots of reasons," said Mum, "Intrigue, confusion, wanting a beard." "A what?" I said. "A beard," said Mum, "It's when a straight woman pretends to be a gay guy's girlfriend. It's called a Beard. I once went on a date with a man and I pretended to be his beard, and he had an actual beard. The thing is, by the end of the date he realised he was straight, and we had fling. Funny eh? He wanted me to be his beard, and he ended up with his heading to my downstairs beard." "Oh my God!!" I loudly gasped, walking away from Mum, "Right that's it. I'm going before I hear about any more of your sexual fiascos." "Well I hope you have a nice time, sausage," said Mum, "Now remember, don't eat garlic, chew your food properly, when you first meet her breathe in, don't smile too much because it freaks people out, and make sure you don't get food stuck between your teeth." "Mum, I'm not twelve," I snapped as I put my coat on, "I'll see you later."

Feeling a combination of excitement and anxiety, I exited the house and walked into the centre of Cowes. I was the first one to arrive outside the Italian restaurant. I waited a while and after a few moments TJ arrived. He was wearing tight leather trousers, a tight shirt with more or less all of the buttons open and his hair was all crushed back with gel." "Alright Elizabeth," said TJ, "You look a bit gay, don't you?" "I look a bit gay!?" I exclaimed, "What have you come as? You look like a 70's porn star. All you need is the old-fashioned moustache and you're spot on." "The birds love this look," said TJ, "Gives a free preview of what they could end up going to bed with. With that shirt you've got on you look like Lawrence Lewellyn Bowen." "Just remember," I said, "Nikki will be coming with the white rose; she's mine, and Marie will be coming with red rose; she's yours." "Don't go forgetting our bet," said TJ, "I bet my style with Marie will have her bouncing up and down on my c*ck before the end of the night, like a toddler on a bouncy castle." "I doubt it," I said, "Anyway, the winner gets a kiss. This isn't about sex." "If I win – or, WHEN I win," said TJ, "A kiss is the proof I've won. The shag is the reward."