Something strange happened about a month ago when the weather turned warm: I converted my bedroom into a freakishly clean, lavender-scented, candle-covered-shrine to the gods of summertime loving.

The urge to turn my room into a love-den may have made more sense to me if I had someone I was trying to impress. But I justified the effort by telling myself a guy wouldn’t appreciate my romantic, comfy room as much as I would anyway. To hell with man-pleasing, I was making my space nice for me.

But my offering must have pleased the sex gods, because The Lad texted me.

To explain: I met The Lad at a party, went home with him and had an amazing night (although we didn’t “sleep” together). He asked me for my number when we parted ways, but he followed up his request by telling me he was, “very busy”. Needless to say, I never expected to hear from him again.

Two days later, he sent me a text. We exchanged witty, amusing, laugh-out-loud texts for the next seven hours. I apologized for leaving love bites, which his friends teased him for, and he responded: “bite me, scratch me, scar me, but never, ever pee on me. I hope that clarifies my stance on such behaviour.” He was amusing and laid back; and I was totally smitten.

On day four of the text-flirting, he asked me out for a drink. He suggested we meet at a pub of my choice, in my area.

I panicked. I knew what drinking with him in my area would lead to and I needed to get “boy-ready”.

It’s my secret fear that a guy will assume that a girl with a dirty flat, is dirty in general (and not in a good way).  If that’s true, the state of the common areas of my flat gauranteed I wouldn’t get lucky. My fantastic flatmates helped me to clean the house until the surfaces sparkled.

I then had to go “boy-shopping”. In case he came over I needed my place stocked with boy essentials: pizza, crisps, alcohol, mixers, paper towels and…rubber goods, which were to be left in the bathroom. I didn’t want him thinking I had pre-planned anything. Besides, it was only our first date and I’m not that type of girl (I know you’re laughing-stop it).

I ripped every errant hair from my body, showered, dressed in my cutest, “ boy-understandable” (i.e. nothing too fashion forward, which confuses men) mini-dress and boots outfit, and left to meet him.

Again, the sex gods smiled upon me, because The Lad suggested after our first drink: “it’s too noisy here. Could we go back to yours and talk?”

We got to my place, drank, talked, and ate crisps until we eventually, wandered into my room. The Lad must have appreciated my romantic, comfy, shrine to the gods of summertime loving-because he stayed there for the next two days.