So, now we have a tremendously attractive hole in our line of appliances. It would look better if it were empty, of course, but since they didn't deign to take the dishracks with them, they're piled on the floor in the hole, since I have no place else to put them.

We'll live.

Hold on to your hats, because what I have to say next may shock you:

We did not go out on Friday night.

Yep. No pub, no darts, no Late Night Bar of Evil, and no copious amounts of beer and wine, either. We stayed in, and were both tucked up in bed with our books and cups of water by 11:00.

The reason for our odd behavior was Elvis, who came home from work on Friday with a streaming cold. He spent the weekend on his laptop, surrounded by ever growing piles of used tissues, neatly folded into fourths. It's strange, those used tissues of his. When I've finished with a tissue it is finished-- wadded up in a ball, every square millimeter of space available soaked with snot. Elvis's are folded neatly into fourths and stacked. I'm not sure how he does it. Upbringing, I suppose. I'll have to check out my MIL's used tissues next time we visit.

By Saturday night, the flow had lessened somewhat and I was feeling a bit claustrophobic, so I met Miss Kitty and Pooka Boy at the pub. We played darts and drank and gossiped. Miss Kitty and I were partners, and slaughtered Pooka Boy and Joey at darts. Then they slaughtered us. Janet and John were there, so after that we played Killer (which took forever, as usual). Some of the SS Girls showed up, and Joey put a great deal of effort into flirting with the sluttier of the two, which was interesting because when we first met the SS Girls at the LNBOE, Joey was all over another one of them. She wasn't there, so I'm not sure whether this was a conscious choice on his part or a matter of taking what he could get.

Around midnight, we headed to the Irish Pub to listen to some live music. After that, we fancied something different. We were going to go to the bar at my friend Amy's restaurant, but they haven't managed to extend their liquor license from midnight, so they were closed. Instead, we went to a nice little bar on the square that I hadn't been in before. It's frequented only by Portuguese, and is a nice little place.

After that, of course, it was time for the LNBOE, which was packed to the gills and tons of fun, as always. The current edition of Cute Guy wasn't there, to my knowledge, but I think Miss Kitty has gone off him anyway. Turns out he's really into physical fitness, and somehow I can't see all drinking, all smoking, "what's a gym?" Miss Kitty and CCG making a go of it. She hasn't mentioned him in ages, but then again, she's been busy.

First off, there is Pooka Boy, who she loves like a brother, and only like a brother. He knows this, deep down, but it doesn't stop him from trying.

Then, there's Frank. Last I mentioned Frank, he was putting the moves on one of Miss Kitty's Portuguese girlfriends. He called her the next day, asking for the girls number. Fine and dandy, but he kept on sending her SMSs on her mobile, starting about two hours after he called her in the morning. Weird texts, and a bit over friendly. For example, the one where he lamented his empty fridge, and wished that the two of them could snuggle in front of the TV with a box of KFC and some ice cream for dessert.

The messages kept on coming. Wouldn't it be nice to have a nice cup of tea, curl up on the sofa, and really talk? He'd bring the biscuits. Or the repeated invitations out to a movie and ice cream, or a walk and ice cream, or maybe just some ice cream?

Frank, as you might have guessed, really likes his sweets. Food in general, but especially sweets.

A few days later, Frank texted Miss Kitty to ask what she was up to. She replied that she was getting spanked at darts. In retrospect, that wasn't he wisest way to put it. Frank replied that he could do it properly, if she liked, and that he wasn't adverse to getting spanked himself.

Meanwhile, Miss Kitty is getting nervous about the whole thing. Frank is a really nice guy, hysterically funny and fun to have around. However, Miss Kitty is not attracted to him in the slightest. She talked to Lady Jane about the whole situation, since she has known him the longest. Lady Jane said not to worry, Frank is an incurable flirt, and he probably just wants to be friends.

Which is true. He flirts with me all the time, although, now that I think about it, only when Elvis is there and never via text, which probably means that he wants to make sure no one takes it seriously. And as for the spanking business, let's be honest-- Miss Kitty left herself wide open for that one.

So Miss Kitty agreed to go for coffee with him. They had a wonderful time together, laughing and joking around, right up to the point where Frank tried to kiss her. And not on the cheek, either-- there was no doubt about his intentions whatsoever. Miss Kitty tells him she likes him, but only as a friend.

This deters Frank not at all, so Miss Kitty decides to "have a talk with him." Good idea, terrible execution. She tells him that she's moving in the Summer, that she just came out of a long relationship last Autumn, that she's not looking for a boyfriend-- everything except what she really needed to say, which is that she doesn't fancy him. "I can't say that!" She said, "I'll hurt his feelings!"

And letting him think that she would be delighted to bonk him silly if circumstances were different isn't? Come on, Frank is a determined sort of guy. Worst case, he just thinks you're trying to play hard to get. Best case, he tries to break down your resistance and show you how wrong you are to be avoiding what might well be True Love.

Which is, of course, what he did. Eventually, Miss Kitty did the right thing and told him how she felt. And it worked out OK. Frank was disappointed, but he soon got over it, and now they're friends, although maybe not as good friends as they might have been if she'd been more up front with him from the start. Really, I think they're pretty compatible. Verbally, at least, they play off each other pretty well.

They never did go out for ice cream.

Finally, there is Horatio. He tends to work weekends, at least two a month, but he shows up now and then. Miss Kitty finally gave him her phone number, and they send text messages back and forth. (Did I mention that Miss Kitty almost never talks on her mobile phone? She's the Queen of the Txt Msg, she is.) Occasionally, the two of them can be seen at the LNBOE, tongues shoved far, far down each other's esophagi.

They went out for dinner last week. Miss Kitty was nervous, because she had decided that he was a nice, nice guy, but that he just wasn't for her, and she planned on being honest with him, which was good. As it turns out, Horatio was nervous, too, and for the same reason. So that's all right then.

They have not, however, ruled out the occasional late-night snog.