My dream girlfriend liked to travel.
Over the course of our relationship – three and a half nights – we went to see the Cirque Du Soleil, rambled across the slopes of Mount Fuji and watched the Northern Lights from the empty bow of a cruise liner.
Cheaper than I would have expected, too.
I don’t remember being introduced to her, although this would go some way to explaining why I never knew her name. I was in the middle of a game of poker when she sat down on the beanbag next to me. Elvis Costello, Charles the First and Dame Judi Dench didn’t look up from their cards, so I presumed this woman was a friend of theirs.
Still, I was a little surprised when she turned to me and whispered, ‘Do you want to get out of here?’
I looked down at my cards; three carrots and a tugboat. Not a winning hand.
Almost instantaneously, we were sat on a deserted beach. I watched the grains of sand flow in between my toes as she rested her head on my shoulder.
‘I’m glad I finally found you,’ she sighed.
On our first proper date, at the circus, we ran into an ex-girlfriend from 2001. She spotted us during the second half, just as the elephants had finished juggling the first editions of the King James’ Bible.
‘You slug,’ she shouted from the middle of the stage. I thought it was a bit unprofessional for the ringmaster to interrupt the show, but whatever. My date just smiled.
Three and a half nights later and I thought we were starting to get serious; I was going to propose to her on top of the Inca pyramids. My dream wife.
But, she never turned up. I wanted to call out for her across the silent jungle, but I didn’t know her name.
And I haven’t seen her since.
I’m hopeful though. It took twenty-seven years for my dream girlfriend to find me the first time. At least now, she knows where to look first.
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