"You once dated a girl whose surname was Virgin?" Dave sounded incredulous. "Why would you date anyone with a name like that? That tells you what you're getting, up front! Nothing."
"Well, her mum knew my mum," said Vince between mouthfuls of lager. "And her mum thought that it was a bit odd that no-one was dating her daughter, and my mum–"
"Thought you were a bit odd."
Vince looked a little hurt and put his pint down on the table. "No, my mum loved me, Dave. Don't interrupt. My mum thought that dating me might help her realise there's plenty of opportunity out there–" Vince waited while Dave's explosion of laughter died away. Dave rested his head on his arm, his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter, and he waved a hand to indicate that Vince should continue his story. "Yeah, so I dated her. For nearly a year."
There was a pause while Dave got himself under control and Vince sipped at his lager, looking thoughtful as he remembered the girl from nearly twenty years ago.
"What happened at the end of the year then?" asked Dave carefully, odd little pauses between words indicating where he was trying very hard not to laugh again.
"She told me she was a lesbian," said Vince. Dave stared at him for a moment, his eyes wide with disbelief, and then he dissolved into giggles.
"Look," said Vince. "It explained a lot of things, alright? Like why she'd only let me kiss her breasts, and why she insisted on me shaving right before we had a date and why she owned more suits than me."
"She only let you kiss her breasts?" Dave's giggles subsided suddenly. "You spent a year kissing a girl's breasts? Sweet Jiminy Vince, I don't know how you do it: I spent eighteen months dating Theresa Wilson and took her out to movies every weekend and bought her dinner twice a month and I still never got more than a bit of over-the-sweater action and no-tongue kissing. You date a frigging lesbian and get more action than me, for a year!"
"Yeah, alright Dave, keep it down a bit," said Vince looking a little bashful. "I dated a girl called Theresa once too."
"Might have been the same one?"
"Nah doubt it," said Vince. "Not unless yours is called Terry now and lives in the Midlands with a wife and two kids."
"No...," said Dave. "No, I think mine died a couple of years ago. Drug overdose."
"Oh yeah, I hate when that happens. Especially when the cameras just keep on running."
Vince drained his lager glass and belched. "Yeah, it was Carrie, she was working as a porn-star at the time, and she died of a drug overdose at the start of a scene, but they just kept on going without knowing she was dead. Really put the price of the film up!"
"How did they not notice? She was dead, right? A corpse?"
"Yeah, but they said she wasn't doing much active in that scene, it was more about how much they could get in her, if you get my drift. They said they thought it was odd she wasn't complaining, but that was about it."
"Dear God," said Dave. "You're a never-ending source of worry, Vince. I liked it better when you were dating lesbians called Virgin."
"Mary Virgin, Dave. I think her mother was hoping for a miracle."
"What, like a grandchild?"
"Nah, they've got the kids thing sorted out already. They got a bunch of sperm donors, mixed all the contributions up together and used that. That way, no-one knows who the biological father is."
"...sounds disgusting, Vince. Just what I'd expect from you. You getting another round in?"
"Yeah right, but not here. That last one was flat."
"Where do you fancy then?"
"How about the Weeping Nun?"
"Sure thing, Vince. I wonder why it's called that?"
"Oh, I know this one! I knew the nun as well, actually...."