The Epic Saga of Sarah's Lateness

Mark checked his watch for the fifth time, then glanced at the empty chair opposite him. 'She's probably rescuing a litter of kittens from a burning building,' he mumbled to the waiter, who nodded sympathetically, probably used to Mark's internal monologue. Twenty minutes later, as he nursed a rapidly chilling espresso, Mark upgraded Sarah's heroic status. 'Or perhaps,' he theorized, leaning in conspiratorially, 'she's part of an elite secret agency, currently disarming a global threat. This date is merely a cover.' He even rehearsed the line: 'Sorry I'm late, darling, the world almost ended.'

Another ten minutes. Mark was now convinced Sarah was a long-lost princess, kidnapped by rogue assassins, only to escape via a daring rooftop chase involving parkour and a conveniently placed hot air balloon. The waiter brought him another espresso, a look of amused pity on his face. Mark decided to compose an ode to her hypothetical bravery.

Just as he was about to draft the final, poignant stanza, a flustered woman with a slightly smudged cheek and a wild look in her eyes burst through the door. 'Oh my god, Mark, I am SO sorry!' she gasped, collapsing into the chair. 'My cat, Sir Fluffington, swallowed my car keys, then coughed them up into the fish tank, and then I slipped on a banana peel trying to retrieve them, and then I realized I'd left my wallet at home!'

Mark blinked. 'So, not the global threat?'

Sarah looked genuinely confused. 'What global threat? I was just trying to get here without drowning my keys... again.'