Spec'ing a significant other

I was out for drinks on Thursday night with a few work types. A few wines into the evening Louise, and my boss, decided that they were going to do me a favour - whether I liked it or not.

Nothing major - they just wanted to find me a life partner.

What followed was the standard interrogation. Blonde or dark? (Not fussed so long as it is not blonde) What height? (Again, not bothered - an inch either side of 5 ft 9 is fine) Nationality? (If ever there was a potential banana skin question... 'You won't catch me out with that one' I replied! 'But not French' I was compelled to add) Profession? (Don't care, as long as she has one) What sort of food? (What!?!? Well since you ask, a sense of proportion of portion is more important than flavour)

This fact finding mission went on for about half an hour, I thought I was performing well. And then I said it, bugger! Every quirky nice guy answer I had manufactured was washed away with the utterance of a simple throw away line.

'I am really quite open when it comes to inky'.

Damn it! I was forced to explain. Any good work, real or imagined, was immediately undermined by a simple pet name.