among the amenities I enjoyed was a very cute young lady doing odd yardwork.

I had lived off campus ever since I began school, which I was allowed to do since I hadn't begun attending until after I had served four years in the military.

My favourite apartment was a rather expensive Victorian-era house; and among the amenities I enjoyed there, the landlords had a very cute young lady doing odd yardwork for them.

One afternoon I plucked up the courage to chat her up. I found out that her name was Beth, she was single, and no, she did not have a prior engagement the coming Saturday.

I reserved tickets for an outdoor performance of Shakespeare's "A Midsummer Night's Dream." A good friend of mine had the role of Nick Bottom, so I wanted to see it; and what could be a better first date than Shakespeare?

I arrived at the appointed hour, dressed in a suit and bearing three red carnations. She opened the door and inquired whether we were going. This threw me for a loop, almost as much as the fact that she was clad in cutoff jean shorts (sans belt), a tee shirt, and sandals. She left the door open while she made preparations, but did not invite me inside, so I stood outside the door while she, somehow not comprehending anything, kept up a conversation from within. She was blonde.

At last she was "ready," though I can't imagine what she had been doing since she was still wearing the same outfit. Oh well, off we went.

A short time into the show, I saw my friend Tom sitting on a blanket with some wine and a picnic basket. Tom was a ladies' man, and true to form, there were also two young women on his blanket.

Seeing me, Tom beckoned us to join him. He was a member of the Celtic band which did the opening act for the play, and I was sure that fact would score me a point or two. We sat down and began enjoying the play from our new vantage point.

A short time later, Tom spilled his wine and there was general chaos as I reached over to try to save his glass. Beth was sitting directly in front of me and slightly to my left, and while everyone was flailing about, my left forefinger went inside the back of her shorts, which still had no belt. It was purely an accident, and I apologized as well as I could. She didn't seem to think much of it, and that was that.

When the play was almost over, the tree above us decided it was time to drop a random clump of debris into my lap; only mine.

No one else noticed anything, but as I began vigorously brushing off my trousers, my left hand slipped and my finger again found its way inside the back of her shorts.

Now, this was too much. Once was bad, but in that situation I should conceivably be able to persuade someone that it was an honest accident. Twice was beyond suspicious; if I had been in her position, I'm not sure I would have believed that both times had been accidental. I was secretly furious, since it really was purely unintentional, and I could do absolutely nothing about it.

I had no way to prop up my credibility, either, since no one else even noticed the debris from the tree. Again I apologised profusely, and again she accepted, though of course I couldn't be sure what she was really thinking.

The rest of the night was utterly uneventful. She suddenly had somewhere she had to be in about an hour, and I drove her home. I painfully, and somewhat self consciously, carried out the ritual formalities of walking her to the door and bidding her goodnight.

After that I headed straight to my favorite bar. Outside of the occasional greeting as she went about various jobs around my apartment, I never saw her again.