“And last but not least, I visited the yellow-skinned zebras,” finished Thomas triumphantly. “Now I get to ask you one. Let’s go a little more personal,” he continued, pondering. “Tell me about your worst ever relationship.”
I took a moment to prepare myself, then it all burst forth in a torrent. “It all started with the Mother. She was abhorrent. A bleary-eyed, clueless drug dealer. Ecstasy and fatty-foods left her a grey-skinned harbinger of indifference. Jaded, her klaxon-laugh and monotonous nattering were overwhelming. But her daughter. Patricia. A queen amongst the riff-raff, a serene light against a tempest of uncultivated minds. A voracious and wise xenographer by trade: young, and zealous.”
Thomas arched his eyebrows knowingly but seemed to decide against asking why this would make a terrible relationship. Instead, he braced himself for the retort.
“The most delicious meal you’ve ever eaten,” I ventured unimaginatively.
“Well,” began Thomas, eyes agleam. “It was in Arkansas: a barbecue chicken dinner with…”
As he rolled out his 26-part meal, I wondered what on earth he would have eaten beginning with x, y and z. The plane hadn’t even left the runway yet – there were many rounds yet left to play.