Regine

Having considered the matter for eight months (25th February), I finally get round to joining my local leisure centre.  In my hand is a bunch of Halloween berries.

'Are they for me?' asks the girl standing behind the counter.  She is tall and thin.  Her long, braided hair is tied in a ponytail.  On her black dress is a small stain, possibly yogurt.  I say she can have them if she wants.  'Only joking', she says.  I fill out a form.

'You've got the same birthday as my mum', she tells me as she inputs my information to the computer.  She is helped by a man in a light-blue polo-shirt whose size belies his place of work.

With the transaction complete, I explain my resolution.  She seems perturbed.  'What's your middle name then?', prompts her colleague.  She tells him.  I ask what it means.  'Is it something to do with queens?' I suggest.  She gives me a look of suspicion and shrugs silently.  'I'm sorry', I say making a rapid exit.  'But thank you very much'.

She waves goodbye with her fingers.