Author's Note: A quick little laugh before more serious matters. At some time, Shane had to go on a date with Lester. Now seems like a good time for that.

Becky Owes me Big Time!

I hold Rebecca Starkwell completely responsible for my recent predicament. Why did I listen to her telling me I needed to get out more! How could I let her jibes about being interested in Oliver (I am not interested in Oliver) lead me to accept one of the forty-three invitations from the head of postal security, Lester Kimsickle. Lester thought it was a good idea to get to know Denver DLO's latest recruit to ensure the security of the establishment.

Lester has a security clearance about seventy-five rungs further down the ladder from mine. Pretty sure he doesn't need to vet me.

Becky owes me. She is going to be shouting me margaritas every girl's night on this and every other of her visits to Denver!

It was not a good idea.

Ah, Montaldo's – Denver's most glamorous restaurant. Site of now two of the least glamorous, enjoyable, or romantic dinners of my life! I wonder if this place is cursed? Diary, let me explain.

First, my dinner companion (I am not going to call him a date) Lester seemed to have forgotten my name, and called me 'blondie' all evening. Blondie is a band fronted by Deborah Harry. Blondie is a long-running comic strip. I am not Blondie. Precisely twelve times I corrected him on this. Every time he said, 'Blondie', I said, 'Shane.' After that, I gave up.

The next memorable thing about this non-date was the fact that Lester talks … a lot. He talks a lot about himself. I now feel confident that if I were a contestant on 'Jeopardy' and the board's subject was the 'Life and Times of Lester Kimsickle' I would walk away a champion. What a pity I could not walk away from this dinner! For example, I now know that Lester was named after Lester Gillis, otherwise known as the gangster Baby Face Nelson. What am I supposed to do with that?

How can I best describe Lester? I mean he doesn't hate women, so he isn't a complete misogynist, but he does certainly come from a school of thought that sees women as his intellectual inferior. Bless. I did toy with the idea of making him pay by voiding his USPS parking permit, but decided to make a donation to 'Girls Who Code' on his behalf instead. I did think about hacking his account to pay for it, but decided not to and paid for it myself. I thought that the receipts coming regularly to his work address would confuse him enough. Lester told the wait staff that I didn't need a menu, and that he would order for me. I believe he said that he would order for himself and the 'little lady'. I didn't even hear what he ordered to be honest. I may have been having some kind of wishful moment where I dreamt I was the 'little lady' who was wearing a very large and fetching hat, complete with a very stylish and sharp hat pin. I was positively gleeful at the thought of that hat pit accidentally finding its way into the hand that he was nonchalantly resting on the table. Oops!

Lester did not like my outfit. I was wearing a very nice pair of black dress pants, a sweet georgette pin-tucked blouse and cami and some lovely Kate Spade sling pumps. Apparently, he thought that on a date (not a date) I should have worn a dress - something 'flashy'. I once again hallucinated, picturing the appletini he ordered me (I hate appletinis) magically flying from my hand into his head. Imagination is a funny thing.

At least the pollo pesto was nice, even if it was not what I would have ordered myself. Chicken, really? Was that because I am a girl Lester? What was not nice was him telling me I didn't need dessert as he was sure I was watching my weight. Lester, I am so surprised you are single. How have you escaped some designing woman's clutches for so long?

Eventually, this train wreck pulled into the station and it was over. Oh, well did I mention that Lester wanted to go Dutch because I was one of those modern types? Yep. We went Dutch. Lester walked me to my car, told me we should do this again sometime (yes Lester, I look forward to that cold day in hell) and then lent in for a kiss as it got into my car. It really was an accident that I stood on his foot. Three times.

Becky, you owe me big time!