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...Why doesn't someone tell him? "Do you want to come?" he asked, with an attempt at being ever so laid-back. His knee was jiggling about under the table like it had taken up Irish dancing.

Oh god, but everyone would think it was a date! I thought.

    "Who's going?" I asked.

    "Jim and Georgia, Libby, Mike and I think Shannon said she'd come. Oh, and Tom."

Tom? Tom! I thought. And here's me in stuff I just threw on and my hair's a mess and I probably still have crumbs on me and...

    This is always happening to me. Now I want to go. But I look terrible. What do I do?

Go home to change first

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