As I walk back, it pings, and I cringe inwardly as I think what he could have replied with.

But I’m taking control today, I can do this. Like ripping off a plaster, I open the message.

You done with your work? ;)

A winky face. Surely this is flirting.

My game playing isn’t that strong – it never has been and it never will be – so I might as well be my uncool self right from the start.

I have actually. And I wondered if you might want to go for a drink one night?

I’m proud of myself for hitting send. Even if he doesn’t reply, I think the mere act of sending the message and putting myself out there takes some balls. Or the female version of balls.

Boobs?

Have I finally grown some boobs?

But I needn’t have worried. His reply is instant.

Tonight?

I am brave, but not quite that brave.

I know you’re with your friends, and I thought this might be more of a 1–1 situation. So not tonight but soon?

Most defiantly. Let me know when you’re free and I’ll be their.

I can’t help but judge him for the spelling mistakes but I can hear my vagina singing already. Perhaps she isn’t really dead, but hibernating. Colin and his jawline could be the thing to wake her up.

About half an hour later, still undecided about how much Chinese food to order, another message lands.

Fancy a visitor? x

Absolutely not. I don’t want him to come over. I want to have the evening to myself. I want to eat my wontons in peace.

But I also worry that if I say no, that will be it. A drink will never happen. My vagina will have to crawl back into hibernation. She would have been fine staying hibernated, but the possibility of freedom has made her restless.

Are you serious?

Deadly.

And then another ping.

I’ll be there in 2 minutes. x

My vagina is singing a little louder again, but she’s totally at odds with my brain, which is listing all the issues with an impromptu visit.

My heartbeat ratchets up, and I look around. My mind is as frazzled as my apartment.

I haven’t prepped myself for visitors. I’ve prepped myself for Chinese food and a movie.

I look down. I’m wearing my favourite crazy-lady silk (OK, probably satin) pyjamas. The ones with prawns on them.

There is too much debris to deal with in two minutes, but I can definitely do something about the prawns.

I run to my bedroom and make a snap decision to wear my only piece of semi-sexy nightwear (a black nightgown given to me by Mia for Christmas aeons ago). I extricate it from the bottom of my miscellaneous items drawer, where it has lived for many years. It’s a bit wrinkled, but it’s better than shellfish. I strip off, and also decide to upgrade my underwear.

Fuck. I wish I had kept up a waxing regime.