My mother never told me you could. But I did. And it was amazing.

I.

Met.

Her.

Now, I know what you are thinking. Some hipster wannabe hooking up with a bespectacled BDSM loving freaky chick over rare Miles vinyl in a second hand record shop in the village. A match dot com advert. But no. Far less interesting than that.

Haribo and limes.

Yes, at salsa class there was a girl I had my eye on. I had already clumsily tried to impress her by doing card magic at her through a window one night as she sat with another guy. I didn't think that move had worked so well, so when she was in front of me and ordered a corona with lime and proceeded to suck the lime before shooting into its beery coffin, I said to her that I loved limes too.

Wow. What a line.

I am smoothness personified, me.

The conversation moved swiftly to sour mix haribo. What two better things could I base the rest of my life on? Limes and haribo.

I said I should clearly marry her as we had so much in common, but maybe we should go for dinner first to check we liked each other. The class started and I didn't get an answer.

After a while it was my turn to dance with her and she asked me when I was going to take her out to dinner.

And that was that.

I wanted to share haribo and lime with this girl for ever.

You might think it won't happen for you. Or it is too late, but this old romantic suggests you hang on. And meet your lime and haribo girl.