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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=527695" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Betty's Date.</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Betty sips her drink and crosses <br>her legs and wonders if Chowbrew </div><div style="margin:10px 0">will ever come as he said he would <br>and as she has been waiting for </div><div style="margin:10px 0">over an hour she thinks he's not <br>coming, thinks he's gone off with </div><div style="margin:10px 0">another. She sighs. All that time getting<br>ready, putting on the new dress, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">making sure she'd put on fresh <br>underwear, showered, washed </div><div style="margin:10px 0">her hair, filed her nails and still <br>he hasn't come. Betty, her mother </div><div style="margin:10px 0">used to say, men are like buses, <br>if one doesn't turn up another'll soon </div><div style="margin:10px 0">show, but it didn't follow in her </div><div style="margin:10px 0">experience; if one didn't show, <br>she'd be left waiting until the bright </div><div style="margin:10px 0">moon shone and the shining stars <br>flickered in the dark night sky, and </div><div style="margin:10px 0">then she'd go home to bed, tuck <br>herself under the duvet, pull it </div><div style="margin:10px 0">over head, and cry or swear or <br>maybe both. She looks at her </div><div style="margin:10px 0">wristwatch. He isn't going to <br>come; she mutters to the air, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">he's left me out to dry, all that <br>time I wasted; now I'm going </div><div style="margin:10px 0">to cry. Betty, her mother often <br>said, men have only one thing </div><div style="margin:10px 0">in mind, oh, yes, they'll bring <br>you flowers, chocolates, buy </div><div style="margin:10px 0">you a meal, get you drunk, <br>but at the end of it all, it's </div><div style="margin:10px 0">getting you into bed that they <br>are after, and she remembers, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">in the background her father's soft <br>laughter. She empties her glass </div><div style="margin:10px 0">and is just about to leave, when <br>a breathless Chowbrew stumbles </div><div style="margin:10px 0">into sight, face flushed, clothes in <br>disarray, Sorry I'm late, got the </div><div style="margin:10px 0">wrong cinema, she hears him say. <br>What an arse, she muses, what a </div><div style="margin:10px 0">prat, doesn't know where he's <br>going or what he's at, but at least </div><div style="margin:10px 0">he's here, she smiles and says, <br>Good to see you, Chowbrew dear.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Terry+Collett">Terry Collett</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=527695" data-title="Betty's Date. de Terry Collett" data-description="Betty sips her drink and crosses 
her legs and wonders if Chowbrew 

will ever come as he said he would 
and as she has been waiting for 

over an hour she thinks he's not 
coming, thinks he's gone off with 

another. She sighs. All that time gett..."></div>
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