Years ago I was dating a beautiful woman. We were young and I was nervous. I knew that I didn’t want to blow things because I had a sense I was onto something good here. So the early encounters became long, drawn out evenings of conversation and a polite and somewhat restrained hug on parting. After a few weeks of this I knew I was in love and I had to take things to the next level. I needed to kiss her.

I called her from work and insisted we meet. I suggested dinner. I took her to my favorite place. It was going to be perfect. It was a small Indian vegetarian joint way out in the sticks. I built it up as we drove there. “You’re gonna love it” I said. “The food is like nothing you have ever eaten, nor will you eat anything as good as this for some time to come.” True words.

We arrive. I have rehearsed a thousand times how I am to tell her that I love her and want to spend the rest of my life with her (or at the very least snog her). The words are going round my head as a waiter leads us to our table and she is saying something about the dreadful décor and irritating lighting. I’m not really listening.

“Let’s order,” I say. I don’t need the menu. I impress her with my comprehensive knowledge of weird sounding things. “You have to have the dosa after you’ve tried the bhel poori” I say. I order more than we need and my hands are shaking. I can’t wait any longer and I begin my speech. I dare not take a breath. I have to finish and, as I do, I wait for the inevitable slap across the face and the “I never want to see you again” cliché. But it doesn’t come. Instead, she tells me she wants to kiss me. “Let’s get out of here,” she whispers, smiling as she reaches for her coat and accidentally touches my hand.

And then, a dilemma. The food is coming (I can smell it now) and a kiss is calling. What should I do? No contest. I get the check, pay up and head for the door. I don’t even take the food home for tomorrow.

Looking back, I wonder how different my life (and the universe) might have been had we stayed and finished the meal. Would our children have been born? And I wonder if today, under similar circumstances, whether I would do the same thing. Would I waste a good meal for the prospect of love? I am not sure which has the greater pull on me these days. Don’t get me wrong… I still say love is the foundation on which humanity should be built. But it can wait until after dinner. Can’t it?