So there we were, walking home from Toby and Angel's wedding on a Saturday night.
Ambling our way along Turnpike Lane.
And Laura turned to me and said, "Do you know what I really fancy?"
"I don't know," I said. "Chips?"
This seemed like a reasonable guess.
"No," said Laura.
"A salad?" I ventured, rather optimistically. "A nice falafel salad?"
"No," she said again. "A milkshake. I really fancy a milkshake."
"Ah," I said, for I am lactose intolerant, and so cannot drink milkshake.
"It's alright," she said, "we can make a milkshake when we get home. We've got some soya milk, and non-dairy ice cream, and we can make a milkshake then."
"No," I said. "You want a milkshake now. You might not want one when you get home, and besides, a non-dairy milkshake won't quite be the same."
"Are you sure?" said Laura.
"Yes," I said. "I tell you what, if you're going to buy a milkshake, I might have a look around for somewhere I can get my eyebrows threaded. You know how I like to get my eyebrows threaded. And I haven't had my eyebrows threaded for a very long time."
"Okay," she said.
And we both smiled, and looked into each other's eyes.
And then we both turned, and saw, across the road...