dotinthesky | Justify that Roast Beef Sandwich (Reply)

It was my third date with Madonna. We walked together to the restaurant. Her hair was cropped short, bleach-blonde, and she wore a tight-fitting black suit. She kept her head down and we hardly exchanged any words.

The restaurant was small, with tables close together and chairs that didn't match. Soon after sitting down at a table for four, a woman asked us if we could sit somewhere else since she was expecting a large group of friends. We apologized and squeezed ourselves around another table.

I observed the patrons and wondered if any recognized her. And if they did, who did they think I was? A celebrity as well? A powerful businessman? But I was only wearing a scraggly t-shirt and jeans. I had no idea why Madonna kept going on these dates with me.

I spotted Ms Muffin with a large group of people arriving from a funeral. She came over and I introduced Madonna to her. I could see the confusion and surprise in her face as she tried to understand why I would be friends with Madonna. One of Ms Muffin's friends, a slim black lady with frizzy hair, knew Madonna well. They hugged and exchanged pleasantries. Soon afterwards, Madonna stood up and left the restaurant with the black lady while Ms Muffin joined her friends in the restaurant's backroom.

A minute later, the waitress came to me, a smirk on her face, and said: "Madonna asked me to collect her purse and gloves. She's gone to a nearby bakery to eat a roast beef sandwich". I felt abandomned. I ran home, down badly lit sidewalks, and was careful to avoid marauding gangs of teenagers.