The other night Jenny came over because she'd thought it'd be "romantic" to make dinner at my place. For a second date? Really?

She set a bag of groceries on my kitchen counter and then reached into her bag, pulling out a record. "Jeff Buckley's Grace," she said, holding the album in front of me. "Original 1994 vinyl release, in perfect condition." I stared at her for a few seconds, wondering how I was supposed to respond to that. Finally, after an odd silence I said, "Awesome. Well, let's put it on."

She put Jeff on the hi-fi, I started emptying out the grocery bag, and suddenly I got a chilled glimpse of domesticated life. *Shudder*

After dinner (she overcooked the pasta), talking (ugh!), and a lot of fooling around (too much tongue), it was already 1:30 in the morning. "It's kinda late," Jenny said. "Do you mind if I just sleep over?" That's code for 'lets have sex' if I ever heard it.

But evidently I hadn't heard it. Because Jenny just wanted to spoon. WTF?

The next morning, desperate to get this prude out of my apartment, I made up some lie about having to meet a friend and rushed out of my apartment, bringing her with me. "Which way are you going?" I asked outside my building. She pointed right. I said I was going left. She waved perkily (not even a kiss goodbye?!) and took off. I watched her round the corner and then walked back inside my apartment and put on Sports Center.

Good riddance.