It was their first date. And it had lasted for nearly twenty-four hours. It started around eleven a.m. when he’d invited her over for an early lunch. This was the first time they’d met; they’d been set up on a blind date.

They hit it off. They kept talking and it got dark and they ordered pizza around eight p.m. They both loved anchovies. Things went well.

He asked her to stay.

He was flattered when she said yes. She smiled a celestial smile.

They flirted more with each other. The snow began to fall around midnight.

“So early in the year for snow?” she said. “But then again, I don’t follow weather.”

Which he thought strange. But he was strange too. For although he said he loved anchovies, she noticed the pile of wiggly, hairy specimens on the edge of his plate.

“Don’t try to please me,” she said.

“Don’t try to please me either,” he said.

She wondered what he thought she was trying to please him about?

“That you don’t follow the weather,” he said. “I know how smart you are.”

“But I really don’t follow the weather.”

“Oh.” he looked down at his plate. “And really don’t like anchovies.”

“They why didn’t you eat them.”

He thought a moment, before responding. He thought of all they’d talked about, discovered, not one misstep except the weather and anchovies. Which would always be around. Well, weather would, anyway.