It was my second date with a work colleague. I knocked on his front door, only to be greeted with a shout:
“HELP! HELP! HANNAH, GET IN HERE NOW!”.
The door was open, so I shoved my way in, in a bit of a panic.
My date was in the lounge. Screaming. Armed with a vacuum cleaner.
“GET THE BASTARD THING OUT OF MY HOUSE!”, he shouted, gesticulating wildly with the hose of the vacuum.
He was pointing at a little spider in the corner of the room. Apparently he’d been trying to suck the little fella up using the vacuum cleaner, but the hose wouldn’t reach that far. Instead, he seemed to be using the machine as some sort of armour against the minibeast.
“FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, HANNAH, HELP ME! KILL THE FUCKING THING!”.
I got a chair, a glass, a bit of card, and escorted the spider outside.
That was the most memorable part of the whole date.