For some reason I feel like telling a story from my father's youth, so I'm going to do that, and then I'm off.
When my father was young, and growing up in a small town in County Down, he fell in love with a girl named Nuala. He didn't know her very well, and worshipped her from afar. It was hard to get to know girls other than your sisters in Ireland in the 1950s, but it seems my father was particularly shy. When he saw a girl coming towards him, he would cross the street out of embarrassment. He was once at a dance, standing on the sidelines, watching Nuala skip around the room. She had come with someone, but she noticed my father standing there, and returned his look. And to his amazement, at the end of the dance she came up to him and said, somewhat dubiously, that she had lost the person she came with, and she asked my father to walk her home. It was his big chance. But he was a tall youth, and looking over the crowd he saw her date across the room, and said, very stupidly, "No, Nuala, your fella's right over there." Which of course gave her no choice but to turn around and walk away.
Always makes me wince, that story.