Their eyes met across the busy dancefloor. Unlikely though it was, both of their glass eyes had fallen out at the same time, rolled across the ground - avoiding dozens of dancing feet - and bumped into each other.
Theobald and Griselda approached each other, put their eyes back in and began an awkward conversation. He didn't normally enjoy yakking. He had caught a large one the previous year but was not allowed to take it home from the Himalayas.
He thought he might fall for Griselda, but then he remembered that women were usually not impressed by clumsy men tumbling over.
She was embarrassed and flushed. Then her cistern began to fill up again.
They arranged to meet the following weekend, where he would cook her dinner.
The next weekend, Theobald felt his heart pounding. It was squishy and bloody in his hands. He was mashing it up with onions to make his special beef heart stew. He pounded it some more, then put it in the casserole dish. He hoped Griselda would like it.
He was an old romantic, like a Victorian version of Duran Duran or Spandau Ballet.
The door bell rang. Theobald picked up the phone. "Hello," he said.
"Hello," said the door bell. "There's somebody at the door."
He opened the door and Griselda was standing there wearing a smile. She apologised but the only item of clothing she could find which was not in the laundry was her novelty "giant lips" outfit.
She entered and the two of them had dinner together. She admitted that she didn't like dating - in fact she didn't keep a calendar at all.
Theobald was excited. He fell in love easily. However, he found that while playing tennis, once he had acquired some points he was usually able to stay standing.
Soon it became clear that the chemistry, the biology, and even the physics were not right for this relationship. She left.
She said later that she believed in love at first sight. But since her first sight had been of her umbilical cord being cut, there wasn't going to be any love in her life.