I had another date last night, number four since I’ve arrived. By now the whole getting ready thing is down to 20 minutes, shower, subtle make up, the blue date dress and of course the trusty contact lens. I also have a particular pair of cute, low-ish kitten heels I usually wear but the strap broke and they’re in the shop, so my red high heels had to do instead.

Ah those bloody heels. Usually they are relatively comfortable but side effects of August in Paris, now the temperature has started to soar, are potential pollution poisoning and heat swollen feet. So my pre-date thoughts were focused mostly on my poor toes, on how sore they were and how sore they might get. It was literally only when I was approaching the guy to introduce myself that I realised I had barely given a thought to the actual date its self!

Am I that jaded? I don’t think I’ve quite hit bitter yet, but certainly I’m not skipping off to my dates with the giddy expectation of meeting the love of my life. In fact for this date I was filled more with the expectation of blisters. I mean that’s not good, I haven’t read ‘The Secret’ but I’ve read a lot of books like it, and if you get back the thoughts you put out, well maybe I’ve been getting exactly the nothing I deserve.

However, as Oprah says, sometimes the universe has a better plan for you then you have for yourself and the date was actually really really lovely. For a scary moment I thought he was going to suggest a romantic stroll along the Seine but thanks be to Jesus, we opted instead for a glass of wine that lovely arcade by Odeon. What’s more he was far cuter then his already cute profile picture and tall! Even with me in my increasingly pinching heels! So contrary to low/no expectations, the venue was great, conversation flowed and a laugh was had, all in all a far better date then I hadn’t bothered to imagine. In fact it was all going swimmingly…

Until I fell!

My bloody high heels, obviously objecting to being briefly ignored, slipped on the lethal cobbles stones and I fell flat on my face. Even as I was falling (and it seemed to happen in slow motion) I remember thinking “rightio, well that’s the sophisticated elegant illusion put paid to”.

However,in order to salvage the best of a bad situation, I managed to milk it for some ‘damsel in need of rescuing’ potential and, having fallen a number of times in Paris I must say it was very nice that for once I had someone to pick me up.

So today he has emailed to both inquire after my knee and to ask to meet again. However I have heard that before (memories of disappearing Canadian Divorcees) so I’m a tad wary of getting my expectations up. But then if all I am putting out there are low expectations is that all I am going to get back? Because those potential blisters I was thinking about? By god I got them.