Robbie Lindsay

I make zero promises. This is fantastic wine.

I make zero promises. This is fantastic wine.

She already has an appointment for a full check up and hopefully they can look up her ear tattoo or find a microchip that will give them her medical history. If all goes well she’ll have a clean bill of health and hopefully be returned to a family that is actually looking for her. In the interim I gave her a flea-dip and have invested in some solid pet friendly cleaning supplies.

Or that. Still sad, though. The one is still my temporary room  mate. 

“Hypothetically… they march to the beat of their own drum,” Robbie said. Summarizing David was… probably an olympic sport if one did it right. 

“Seriously? Your advice is be more interesting?” Robbie repeated. He was stolid, practical, good at solving problems. Admittedly none of which were exactly sexy traits. “Wyatt - wait, no. Hypothetically-” hypotheticals were falling apart at this point, “-if someone already had something set up on Valentine’s, they might not need to spice things up. I mean, if it actually was a date.”

Why oh why had he bothered asking Wyatt. He was going to need a lot of therapy to undo this fiasco and they were just getting started.

Clearing his throat, he rephrased, “How do you know if it’s a date without straight out asking if it’s a date?”

“Uh… sure. Okay. I have no clue what that means exactly but sounds like you really know how to pick em’. But, that’s a you problem anyway, nothing I can do about that, so back to the issue at hand,” Wyatt said, infinitely more curious about who this mystery person was, but deciding to let it go. For now. The truth would come out eventually. 

“Naturally... interesting,” Robbie repeated, trying to keep a straight face and nodding, “yeah... Wyatt, that’s one word for it.” He wasn’t sure if interesting exactly summed Wyatt up. He was one of the most extra beings to ever haunt new Orleans. 

“Of course I’ve been on dates before,” Robbie said. “I dated the same person for years, I’ve been on dates, it’s just this one specifically I can’t figur-” Well, he’d just blown the hypothetical right out of the water there. “And that is TERRIBLE advice, Wyatt. You can’t just DECIDE something is a date, it kind of defeats the purpose.” What on earth did Wyatt consider a date??? 

Robbie Lindsay knew that he had screwed up in his romantic life when he was wandering through a New Orleans carnival and considering taking Mr. Spoon Fetish up on his “advice” offer. 

But, Robbie might also have been the only person capable of kind of making a date on Valentine’s and then realizing that he wasn’t sure if it was a date at all. 

Desperate times. Questionable measures.

“So,” Robbie said by way of greeting, “hypothetically, how do you know if something is a date or if something is just a business thing, because apparently I can’t tell the difference.”

So. Many. Regrets.

@wyatts-spoons​ 

Hearing a voice, Wyatt spun around slightly on his bar stool, smirking at Robbie. “Glad to see you finally know what’s good for you,” he said, patting the other man on the shoulder. Now, Wyatt had little to no experience actually dating (his own choice, mind you) but what could be so complicated about it?  “Did either of you specify it was a date?” he asked plainly, quirking an eyebrow, “I’m going to assume the answer is no if you have to ask.” Pondering for a moment, Wyatt concluded he needed more information, “So, tell me about it, how exactly did this… arrangement happen?”