Coming for Dinner

So then.
There's this person. Who I've talked to a bit.
Named Imogen.
Follow so far?
She's been subtly mentioned, but otherwise out of the 20-watt limelight of this blog.
By my own choice. That I have yet to qualify. Even for myself.
Okay. Well, she's in BC.
It's sunny there. They get a lot of rain, I hear.
I was there once. BC. I went to Tofino. With Antoine.
No one ever says his name properly if they read it aloud. 'Ant-woyne?'
We ran into an Australian fellow in Tofino that we truly believed we would never see again in our lifetimes.
At a fish n' chip place.
Those Australians and their seafood.
So, she's coming to visit. And is thus metaphorically pushed into the limelight, presently.
I've told several people that when it comes to myself and girls, things are never straightforward.
My true friends have already grown accustomed to this.
"Well, I'm moving in with her, but she sort of still has a boyfriend in Ottowa, but I think she likes me more. She says she does. We're sharing a bed, but she's not sure if we should be 'sleeping together.' She says maybe I should get my own bed. I'm moving out."
"Yeah, that makes sense," my friends would say.
We've never met. Imogen and I.
Which is moot, as far as I'm concerned.
That's why she's coming.
That and the mussells.
We Newfies and our seafood.
She informed me that she would be 'stopping by' during a vacationing trip to Montreal.
I primarily just sat and sweat for a moment.
Then I asked questions. Some appropriate, some less appropriate.
"That's a really strange thing to ask, I'm going to tell Turpin," she said at one point.
Sort of like tattling. If Turpin were any sort of authoratitive figure. Which she isn't.
But she's quite nice. She collects her menstrual blood in a different way than she did before.
I'm excited for her.
Where was I?
Ah yes.
Midnight. November 6th. I've already begun to coordinate an outfit in my head.
I have nine days and counting.
I have to do laundry.
I have to clean my tub.