This is the god's honest truth, I swear on my mother (anyone who knows my mother may think that's not much of an oath, but you get the gist). So our eyes locked across a crowded bar, yadda yadda, got to talking, chatting, talking, so I ask, "hey, what do you do?" He replies, "Oh, I'm a brain surgeon." Ok, off to a good start. (He was, in fact, a brain surgeon.) "I'm also a semi-professional trumpet player." Ok, slightly wanky thing to say, but at least he's cultured, I can live with that. Picks me up for our first date in a vintage Lotus convertable. Nice touch. I'm thinking, hey, my mother (despite disclaimer above) might approve of this. So, dates come, dates go, and finally the night arrives for us to get at it. So as we're clenched in our first embrace, his his hands running up and down my back, he then whispers breathlessly in my ear, "you feel just like a salmon." WTF?? And before I get over the horror of this compliment, he then says, "I think I trust you enough to say this. Would you mind if I put on a dress?" "Hi mom, I've just met the nicest man, a trumpet-playing, transvestite brain surgeon," is the phone call that never happened.