"Do you like dates?"

"Do you like dates?" - question asked to determine if I was part Arabic or part Turkish in a conversation I had about 3 months ago (long story, another time...)
"Who doesn't?" - Me, tongue in cheek
"No no no... I meant do you like *eating* dates?" - I know he meant the fruits, not the dinner invitations
"I do have a few of them for dinner if they're rude." - Me, tongue in cheek again.

Yes, just in case the question ever cropped up (which I'm sure it doesn't), and in case you're wondering if this is some house-proud, middle-aged, old-fashioned prude of an aunty - no, I'm not married, yes, I'm incredibly house-proud, finicky and have great attention to detail and take great pride in the state of cleanliness around the house that I keep. And no, I'm not actually middle-aged... yet.

If you're wondering why I say this with a certain measure of pride, the reason why I still declare this happily is because most people looking at me on the streets wouldn't think I knew how to cook. If you were to buy me a magazine based on how I looked, you're 10 times more likely to opt for Cosmopolitan or Harper's Bazaar than the BBC Good Food Guide. Great, great misunderstanding there... I feel I ought to clear the air.

Then again, these days with the myriad of Discovery Travel & Living type TV, I love to crow that food has suddenly, blissfully, happily, become sexy.

I am not married nor looking to be married, until I can find that ideal person who wouldn't leave dirty laundry around the house, is able to self-sustain without having to call in, survives without a maid and above all, still knows the symbol for "dry-clean only" instinctively. Finding someone like that is honestly harder than you think. It's like dreaming of dating the chief editor of Wallpaper* or the CEO of Habitat.

In the meantime, I'm happy to leave quick house-hold tips and other practical and convenient displays of aunty-hood on the net.

But, if you have both their numbers, call me.