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So Barbie has just left my place and biked home. We’ve actually spent a large part of the day together. Went for a long run together (it’s been beautiful here today). Then she came over for dinner and the plan was to go to the cinema. However, fate as well as she, it seems, would have other plans.
Imagine this. You’ve just finished a very nice dinner together with someone you like. Conversation’s gone really well and you’ve connected a little bit more than before, you’re actually getting to know each other. You get ready to leave for the cinema, she goes to the bathroom for a moment and you put on your coat. When she comes out she says, just like that almost matter-of-factly, “What do you want with this thing, is it just for fun for you or are you serious about it?” This was an ambush that Vietcong would’ve been proud of. Look up ‘stunned’ on Wikipedia and you’ll see my picture. She added, so as to complete the blackmail situation she had so cunningly engineered, that she asked because “she does not want to get hurt” and that if I’m only interested in something short-term then we’d better stop it. I had the feeling she suppressed the words “right now”. Then again, this was not said in any agitated state but it was all very civilised.
I said in a deliberately only moderately convincing manner that no, I’m not interested in something short-term or just “for fun” (aka f*ck buddy – at least that’s how I interpreted her). I said that if her question was spawned by my having told her last Saturday that yes, I’m ready to date, but that my hesitation – which I believe is a legitimate hesitation – is due simply to the fact that the recent news that la parisienne returns in a week’s time (rather than in August) to work in my unit has, well, disturbed my circles. I said that no, I do not harbour any feelings of hope or desire to get back with la parisienne, but again I am affected by the news of her imminent return. Then we hugged and kissed and decided not to go to the cinema but to watch The Matrix at my place, a film she hadn’t seen. Lots of snogging, which by now is getting tedious, but again nothing further on the physical front.
Yes, dear readers, I’m confused and befuddled, my brain is addled, my noodle is baked. W-T-F. I do not – repeat – do not consider ambush tactics to be anything but childish game-play, which does not belong among adults. Yes, we needed a talk but no, we didn’t need it after having spent hours upon hours of great time together today and just as we are about to go out. And the question she asked is wrong; it is not whether I want something short-term or not, but whether there is any emotional basis between the two of us for trying anything at all, short-term or long-term. I mean, it’s not like we can move forward any slower, is it? For F’s sake, it’s like running a car on brake fluid!
And no – just for the record – I do not appreciate being served with an “I don’t want to get hurt” as a reason, even when the question is as stupid as the one she asked. This is how it is, babe: it’s life and this is how relationships start. You’re not likely to get killed, but you run the risk of having your heart broken. So in order to play you’re required to insert into the slot machine at least parts of your heart before pulling the handle. Who knows, maybe you’ll get lucky and win, maybe even the biggest fattest hugest prize of them all with a life-long payment scheme. But, as we all know, odds are against you statistically speaking. Then again, if you still wanna play then you gotta pay. And no, there’s no insurance policy you can take so if you lose, you stand there, broke and broken. So don’t give me any of that “I don’t want to get hurt” crap. Deal with it and take it, should it come, as an adult woman. Eat chocolate, ice cream, whinge to your friends, go out and date like crazy and jump every even remotely male-looking man, start a new hobby, exercise, whatever the hell women do to get over male bastards who’ve dumped them. But do not ambush me and imply that I’m to blame for failing to prove to you that I’m keen on a real relationship when in actual fact it is you, my dear, who’s the obstacle to this going anywhere. I mean, for God’s sake, how, if not by touching and kissing you and showing affection, am I supposed to prove my interest?
Man, I’m upset. And quite honestly, I’m losing interest, though I have not yet shown it. I do believe that by now we’ve gone way past what is normal regarding physical progress when dating someone. It’s not fun any longer and I’m not even looking forward to it, should it ever happen. There is such a thing as pleasures of anticipation, but this is going too far. She’s a grown-up woman and should be able to handle these things. It’s not like when you were a virgin and it was the most precious gift you felt you could ever give to someone. Besides, she’s been in five long-term relationships, ranging from 9 months to 4 years. So it’s not like this is a new situation for her.
At the very least the situation which she created tonight provides us with a basis from which to hold further discussions on this matter. As they would diplomatically say in politics when the opposite side has come up with an utterly ridiculous proposal.
On Saturday last week, Barbie invited me to dinner and a movie at her place. I guess, this would be our sixth or seventh date. I’m losing track a little – which is ok because as a a lawyer I’m not required to be good with numbers (though as man, I need to be good with figures 
anyway lame jokes aside). It was a really nice evening. I’m amazed at how good a cook she is, truly impressive. Conversation flowed well and we covered a few “meta topics”, like favourite job, reasons for being a lawyer, goals in life, etc. Sort of a value-based discussion, which is always interesting. The movie was “Dead Fish”, sort of a low-budget Snatch. And we sat in her sofa, snogged a lot, she leaning against me. Very cute and quite hot actually. She could obviously notice that I was interested in her. After the film, she asked if I’d like to stay over. I first didn’t understand what she asked so she had to clarify that she meant sleep over. With her. In her bedroom, which is where her bed is, so it also meant in her bed. Ah, I said. And I said yes, I’d really like to. So I did
Quite an interesting night. Nothing happened though. We spent an hour doing more of “the talk”. If you recall, the previous weekend I’d asked her if she was ready to start dating again, to which she’d replied that she was because her last break-up was a mutual one without hard feelings. So, using this as an excuse, she now asked me if I was ready. With full honesty and sincerity I said yes, I am. The only concern I have is that I am wondering how I will react when la parisienne shows up on 19 March to work in my unit. I know, though, that I am not interested in her anymore. That seems to have satisfied her and she said she understood.
Then we snogged some more, which was ok I guess. Main problem was that she didn’t initiate or maintain much physical contact but it was always I who had to act. If not, we’d basically have been lying there only touching with our lips, like two seals, which would have been ridiculous of course. After a while I broke off the snogging. I mean really, if we’re not going further I’m more happy to sleep and focus on my own night-time recovery.
Next morning we woke up, did the whole “pretend to sleep” thing, kissed some more and then after a cup of coffee I went home. It was all rather odd and abrupt. Still I felt good about the evening and night. It was really nice to sleep next to someone and feel her skin against mine, have her hair in my face etc. All these little things which are so cute and lovely.
On Thursday I met up with up with Hungry Hungarian for drinks and a bite. She’d texted me a few times in the past weeks and I’d had to decline, mainly for work-related exhaustion but also because I felt it’d be a waste of my time. This time however I felt I couldn’t get away. And during the course of two hours eating and drinking, I realised that she’s so utterly uninteresting. She’s clueless and immature, actually to such an extent that it’s embarrassing. The only thing I could do was to sit there and listen – to even begin a discussion to try to make her understand how ridiculous her opinions about work, life etc are would be a futile effort. Four months ago, she started working at a big company and she’s already complaining about her job. I mean, what does she know after such a short time? I would even go as far as saying she’s already disillusioned, which is pathetic. It’s almost like otherwise healthy people inventing ailments in order to attract sympathy. Moreover, she regrets not taking a gap year to travel. So? Live with your decisions, babe. And also it appears that she considers every decision she’s contemplating regarding her job to be of life-changing importance, when in reality it won’t have any major impact at all on the course of her career. It’s several little decisions in a general desired direction, which will make it happen. So you can imagine, two hours of this bla bla bla. What can I say, yuk. It all became too much for me and suddenly I felt I simply had to interrupt her and explain that I was knackered from over-work the last few weeks (which is true) and had to leave. I had wanted to do this during the last hour but thought I should give her a chance. But she didn’t take it. Instead, she sipped her wine in miniscule sips so that it lasted forever. Had she been even remotely interesting I would have thought it cute that she wanted to spend more time with me, and of course I would have offered her another drink to further lubricate the situation. But this time it was too much and I just couldn’t allow myself to take more of this torture; time in my bed was far more important than listening to the whining of a 23 year-old. So I got the bill and within minutes we were out of the bar. Phew. My only regret is paying for the drinks and the dinner as, strictly speaking, it wasn’t a date and she was actually the one who had instigated it. But whatever to get out of there. And no, she didn’t even send an sms to thank me. I should have seen this long before. I’m done with 23- to 25-year-olds. The chances are very slim that there will be anything of substance in their conversation and that they will actually have developed a genuine interest in other people beyond simply being impressed with what someone who’s older has accomplished in life. And she smokes as well – here I broke one of my cardinal rules. Shame on you, adventure boy, shame.
Venting has reminded me that I haven’t updated you on my date with Barbie, which made me realise that I owe y’all, umm, you updates on two dates: the movie date with Barbie on Valentine’s Day and the dinner date at my place on Tuesday (and will you believe it, literally as I wrote the previous sentence I get an sms from her!). I must admit I feel like I’m walking on egg shells, or more appropriately on thin ice.
There was no Grand Plan for Valentine’s. Instead we simply went to the movies. Saw “Little Children”. Kate Winslet is truly superb and there are so many tangents in that film that really gets your mind going.
She was late, I kissed her on the cheek, we went for a drink at a café, talked, nay, bantered about all kinds of things. I found myself looking away and nack and smile inside when I realised she was still there. Silly, overly romantic me.
In the cinema, there were pretty much only couples. In fact, right in front of us a couple sat down and immediately started eating face like there was no tomorrow. This created a slightly tense moment between Barbie and me.
Little Children, eighth scene: Kate Winslet and hunk dad have just bonked their brains out on her washing machine:
Adventure Boy: *blushing in the dark*
Barbie: *whispers* I remember when I studied in Montpellier, there was this Brazilian guy in the apartment above mine. I couldn’t believe the rate at which he went through women. There was a new one every evening! (exclamation mark added by a slightly higher pitch of the whisper).
Adventure Boy: *red as a tomato, thinking “bloody hell”* Eh, umm, oh in Montpellier, ah, eh.
B: *whispers* Yes, at first my friend across the hall blamed me but I had to tell her it wasn’t me.
AB: *studders* Ah, well, um, ha, well these Latinos… *trails off*
I mean, really! What was that?
Film continues. Some more bits and pieces of conversation and I notice that as soon as I give her attention she moves her hand in my direction, sort of trying to take mine but not wanting to go the whole way. I do take her hand after a while and it’s as if it were dead! I mean, she doesn’t even squeeze my hand. Odd. So I let go.
After the film we walk to my place and at a street corner we stop and stand real close. Then she notices that I’m hesitating and asks “What is it?”. “Well I don’t know what to do, may I kiss you?”, I said. She smiled and nodded, and we kissed. Not passionately or hot, but gentle and almost shyly. It was all sort of, well, beautiful if slightly boring.
Anyways, let’s fast forward to last Tuesday when she came to my place for dinner. When she arrived she waited to see what I would do, so I kissed her. This time more than on the street corner. She seemed very happy to be there. We cooked together, had some wine, talked a lot about all sorts of things.
I made a little list, which I normally don’t, about her:
Good points:
- She’s read the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. I’ve never met a girl that I find attractive who has.
- She likes action movies with good special effects. I mean, man! *ticks box*
- She’s not body conscious. Then again she used to compete for years in athletics.
- She’s a damned sharp lawyer. And she has a PhD in law. And she’s only 32, well at least I think so (I think I heard her say “32″ when she calculated lowest dating age (age/2)+7)
- She’s got amazing hair. And eyes. And the cutest nose. And freckles. And tiny hands and feet.
- I’d really like to get to know her.
- She seems kind. Though I’ve wondered why she’s asked me twice if I have a hot temper (which I do, though I have a long fuse) and she has said that she sometimes gets very angry without any reason. I guess this is a bad point.
- She’s been considering giving up law, as have I.
- She knows how to drive a tractor. Way cool.
Bad points:
- None really, so far. But if I have to give one it’d be that she’s German, which isn’t my fave nationality. I realise I’m stretching it here.
After dinner we watched a movie…X-Men III. Odd choice, you might say, but she was completely into it (good special fx). I don’t have a sofa so we lay on the floor on all my really big pillows. Held hands, snuggling, small talk. She asked if I was strong, which I found strange but cute. We snogged (really exciting actually, I mean, since la parisienne and I broke up I’m used to go running to hear heavy breathing…).
When she left we kissed and I held her. I asked if we could take it easy. I feared that all the snogging, kissing etc was a result of the wine. I didn’t feel I wanted to rush into something, actually that I didn’t want to risk whatever it is that we’re creating, if anything.
Funnily enough I didn’t miss, or think of, la parisienne during the date. I guess it’s true that if you make an effort to get back into the saddle again you’ll forget quickly. Maybe that’s the answer to the question how to let go. I don’t know. I do know that she’s apprehensive because she’s also recently broken up. The idea for Sunday – which, mindbogglingly, is our fifth date – is to go iceskating. Whohoo! I believe we’ll talk a little bit more then about where we are, so to speak.
Dear Friends,
I am sorry I haven’t written in such a long while. Things have been freakishly busy at work, there have been developments in my personal life and I have had soo much to think about it’s crazy. Let me bring you up to date (and I’ll be brief).
The date with Barbie last Tuesday went well considering we haven’t actually – pretty much ever since we first lay eyes on each other – said more than “hello”. We met for drinks at a nice wine bar. The conversation was nice light and easy. I felt it was fun to get to know someone from scratch like this when she is also interested in getting to know me. Serious questions were mixed with fun, cheerful, teasing talk. Afterwards we went to a posh-but-not-over-the-top resto for dinner (though dinner was not initially planned I had made a reservation just in case . Conversation continued to flow well and suddenly we were the last guests and the resto was closing. We walked to her bike and I kissed her good night on the cheeks. Then I had to call out to her because I realised we hadn’t exchanged numbers. Another cheek kiss then bye. All very innocent but still there was a charge.
She emailed right away the following morning thanking for the evening (which incidentally was on me even though she did the fake reach very stylishly). Thursday Irish and I had sushi at Fave Japanese Resto. She asks for update re Barbie. Then she asks when next date is and I realised I hadn’t even thought of this! Ladies, realise now that this is not something The Male thinks about right after the first date, which explains why sometimes as much as a week passes between the first date and even a contact regarding the second date. But Irish prompted me to send a text to Barbie and ask about her weekend. She replied describing how she’d just taken a bath and that her Sunday afternoon was free. Great, I wrote, and said I’d email her the info next day, Friday.
My plan was an afternoon exhibition, a combined design, photo, (pop-)art etc exhibition regarding the 1960s which seemed had good reviews. Then perhaps a visit to an exhibition nearby of one of my favourite colour photographers. She seemed enthusiastic and I offered to pick her up at her place on Sunday at 1400 hours. Thus began a very interesting day and evening.
The exhibition was fun. Surprisingly enough the conversation moved from the cheerful combined with serious questions to simple ordinary really easily flowing chat. I was quite amazed. And I was amazed how at ease she appeared to be with me (also considering that she had tried some new eye cream which had made her skin all swollen under the eyes). I, on the other hand, kept thinking that I was faking all of my behaviour (see more below) though I think that didn’t show at all. At 1700, when the exhibition was over, she proposed a walk to a waterside cafe. Then we ended up at a bar/resto drinking mojitos and caipirinhas. And had dinner (this time on her, she insisted). And I walked her home. Midnight arrived. She asked if I had ever seen a shooting star, which of course I have, having grown up in the middle of nowhere countryside. So lots of stargazing but no shooting stars.
The only awkward moment was at her place. She had asked me to come in. In fact she gave three options: come in for a drink, come in while waiting for a taxi or go directly (it was a school night after all). Then suddenly she said, quite abruptly, “I’m going to the garden to look for shooting stars” and turned around. So I had to follow. I found myself standing in her garden inches behind her, craning my neck to see the stars. Of course the clouds had come in by then and nothing was visible. Then suddenly I found myself leaning in and smelling her hair, saying she smelled nice. I think I kissed her forehead and even her mouth lightly. No real reaction: it wasn’t as if she kissed back and that surprised me a bit. But strangely enough there was not a weird moment and I didn’t scare her. Instead she said softly “Let’s go in before we get cold”. So we did. And she offered lemonade while we were waiting for the taxi. I said “I’m sorry for kissing you” and she said it was ok. Taxi arrived and I kissed her softly on the mouth again. Why I had no idea but it felt natural, though she didn’t offer much of a kiss back.
So yesterday I emailed, thanking her for a nice evening. I sent a weblink about shooting stars which included a calendar of the most common dates for meteor showers, next one being in April. She replied “Do I really have to wait all the way til April?”. Hint hint, I thought. Then she emailed asking if I had seen “Bobby”? So now we’re scheduled for a movie date tomorrow (provided the fever I caught yesterday night from leaving the gym with wet hair and without jacket (I’m like a porcelain doll sometimes, sigh) passes in time).
Why am I a fake, then? I keep thinking of la parisienne when I’m with Barbie. I miss her, her straight almost Greek nose, her dark thick hair, her long thin fingers without any real nails because she bites them all the time, her long upper body and sort of cute gangly appearance, that with 182 cm she’s almost my height, her big, big eyes. I can’t let go of her, it seems. I know Barbie is right. She likes me, at least that’s the impression I get even though she hasn’t really responded physically. She’s interested in me. But I feel I’m letting her down by not being able to feel more for her. It sucks, really. Crap timing, that’s what it is. Then again as Irish said “There is no good timing, there’s only here and now”. It’s so true. I’m torn between the feeling of not wanting to lose Barbie and whatever it is that we might become, and the feeling of not being entirely free to give myself to her. I am left with a sense of wanting to be alone in order to find or to ground myself before I make more plans with Barbie. But I fear that in doing so I risk losing her. I’m so very confused.
Perhaps it’d be best if I’m still sick tomorrow because I won’t be able to meet Barbie on Thursday due to an out of town friend visiting and because I’m in Paris this weekend. Just to put some more time between us and me. But tomorrow’s Valentine’s Day and I have nothing planned.
Reading LG’s post about her date with David made me remember my breakfast date with A Girl with the Same Name as Me plus an A (well, let’s call her A Girl). It happened 1 January 2004 and we had met the evening before at this 200-people New Year’s Bash organised by some friends of mine. I was definitely attracted to her – blonde, sporty/hot, well educated, well mannered, professionally successful, seeminly kind, you know the drill. Plus there was attraction from her too, especially when we found out we both like to tango. So when I woke up (alone) that first morning of 2004 in Little Officer’s cold an empty apartment (he was with his now fiancée) I texted her to see if she’d be up for some breakfast. And she was. So we met at a hipper cafe in the capital of the Country Where I Am From, you know, the kind of cafe where you not only eat but also go To Be Seen. It was the kind of place where you have to go up to the counter and point out which of all the amazing-looking muffins etc that you want. So as we’re standing there looking at the goods, she asks me “Which one will you have?” I, having a sweet tooth for all things chocolate, reply “Definitely that large mushroom-looking chocolate muffin, and a tripple latte macchiato”. She replied “Hmm, well, perhaps, yes maybe, ok I’ll have exactly the same”. Now, a long time later, I don’t remember anything from that breakfast except that she couldn’t even make up her own mind about what kind of breakfast she wanted. Perhaps she thought it endearing and cute to follow what I took? Maybe she’s the kind of woman who wants men to order for her at restaurants? Anyway, the point is I wasn’t impressed with her because of this. Which of course didn’t stop me from asking her to be my date at a ball later that spring, which only confirmed that she wasn’t for me. But that’s another story.
Friday was an interesting evening. Met up with Da Gang for burgers and beers at our standard burgers and beers joint (though Mrs Tyrolean had to stay at home with Little Tyrolean). Fun all around. At a certain point during the dinner a friend, Gay Peruvian, arrives with two Peruvian female friends of his. Later I was to find out that the Blonde Peruvian was actively looking for A Man in Her Life. She’s 38 or so. Anyway, once they’re seated the whole conversation turns into Spanish. But quite a few of the burger companions do not speak that language and so we felt a little bit left out. Not to mention miffed about the fact that these people had just arrived and hijacked our nice time. When the Blonde Peruvian makes a move on me, I’m cool and ask her why her last name is German. Swiss, she corrects me, whereupon I ask her, Oh, when did your family move to South America? Intentionally , and I admit slightly rudely, I hinted to the move of many Germans, Austrians etc to countries in South America after WWII. Well, here the reason was quite ordinary and, also, her father had only moved there in the 60s. Perhaps for love, who knows, I didn’t pry further. I got the point across, however, that I wanted no more from her. Harsh perhaps, but hey it’s Darwinism in a way – she ain’t gonna mix her genes with mine. On Sunday in the sauna after a tennis match with my very good friend BiertjeMan, who incidentally is good friends with Gay Peruvian, I was told that apparently Blonde Peruvian had seen me as a very good Potential Mate, something which Gay Peruvian himself had also thought. Interesting.
Saturday offered more interesting developments. As mentioned earlier, Russian Old New Year was to be celebrated in style. First sushi dinner with some friends, including Danish, who was as ravishing as always. My oh my, there is something to be said for stay-ups. Seeing a glimpse of such at the slit of a nice black dress sends a man’s mind racing like crazy (and not down Gutter Lane as many girls might think). And she was very friendly and kept touching my arm at every little crap joke I pulled. Fantastic body language. Unfortunately she was slightly under the weather and would eventually pull out later that evening. But she’s still a Potential. I think I will ask her to teach me squash, which she plays. I only played it once and had enough of it because I kept running into the walls.
The actual New Years Party was ok, but not more than that. In a bar and completely unorganised. Most Ruskies were already shit-faced before midnight (one could assume that they’d celebrated according to Moscow time which was a few hours ahead, but this theory is unproven). Hungry Hungarian was there, now sporting a new hairdo which she was happy I noticed. But apparently I must have done something wrong because there was no vibe. At. All. Oh well. After gulping down some champagne (and, btw, we didn’t find any bolsheviks to shoot firecrackers at) some of us moved on to a Cuban club where we danced. The rest of the group went to another place and so that evening was pretty much fucked up.
Well that may not be entirely true. After we had left the Cuban place we found a late-night joint. With us was A Girl Called S, whom I went running a few times with a year or two ago. Haven’t seen her since actually but earlier that evening she was entangled with my friend Social Sarajevo. Anyway, here at the late-night joint she showed interest in me, suggesting that she and I start practising for the New York marathon. First reaction: say what? Second reaction: my that’s a bit blunt. Third reaction: how unattractive. Then, when two friends say that they’ve got engaged on New Years Eve and that they’re getting married in Africa, A Girl Called S blurts out that she’s going to crash their wedding on Zanzibar and be a witness at the ceremony. When informed that several witnesses are required by law in Tanzania, she says that I will be coming with her! She’s not drunk at all when she says this, having refrained from drinking all night. Moments later we’ve all left the bar and as I’m walking her to her door she says, still on the topic of the engagement, that “Everyone’s been engaged and broken it off. At least once.” First reaction: WTF?!? How inappropriate to say when a friend , and in fact a very good friend of hers, has just got engaged. Second reaction: ???? Third reaction: Ah, she wants to de-dramatise her previous engagement which she broke off. This led on to a discussion about the recent big break-up she’s gone through with her former fiancée with whom, thus, she once more got together. But this time it was he that dumped her. So I figured that I didn’t need more indications that she was, to say the least, in an unstable place, and so kissed her good night and made my way home to my big cold bed.
Fast forward to yesterday evening. After a great dinner at my place with Irish and a polish friend, I met up with Hungry Hungarian at a local pub. Since we first met in November, and with significant sms contact since, this is actually the first time we’ve talked together for longer than a few minutes. Following general PUA operating procedures we met in a bar and not at a restaurant, simply to make it easier to bail in case it turned into shit. Well, what shall I say? I should have left. While I find her physically attractive, she’s completely immature and there is nothing attractive in her as a person. She has no clue about anything, it seems, mainly due to lacking life experience. But I wouldn’t kick her out of the bed and with almost a month since last time…And this is interesting, she insisted on discussing her latest pottery class where a nude female model appeared several times. She was very careful to describe how the model had spread her legs to allow the students to sculpt her intimate parts. She also did follow on in my harmless discussions about porn, adding that she liked going to sex shows. Interesting.
So folks, here’s the weekend’s party post mortem: Danish is still on as Potential. Hungry Hungarian is demoted from Potential to Potential Shag. A Girl Called S doesn’t even make the list.
Yesterday night I was at what can best be described as a blind dinner date with little officer, his fiancée and her friend K. Actually this was the second attempt at getting myself together with this illusive K: the first attempt was a few weeks ago when I was also back in my home country but then little officer, myself and some other lads ended up going out bigtime so that little officer completely forgot to text his fiancée that she and her three “girls dinner” companions, who included K, should come downtown for drinx.
Anyway, this time we managed to meet and though the setting was slightly different (rather than meeting someone in a bar in the comfort of lots of good friends, here I found myself painfully aware of little officer and fiancée and their wonderful relationship on display right across the table) it was still nice and certainly can take care of myself in unknown waters. K is an interesting lady. Tall, slim (even fit), long blonde hair with a fringe, cute, intelligent (and I do mean intellectual abilities). The only thing I did not feel that she displayed, if not exuded, was happiness. Of course she was probably a bit nervous but arguably the situation was the same for her as for me: she was there invited by a good friend and her partner, just as I was there invited by my good friend and his partner. So the comfort level ought to have been the same – then again, dinner blind dating is a bit of an onerous or imposing affair. Perhaps it was chemistry then, or lack thereof, which made the whole thing feel rather stiff. Perhaps - though of course it’s difficult to tell when you’re not really spending time alone with someone. Only then will you know how well conversation will flow and how you deal with uncomfortable silences. Nevertheless, following my rule of never burning bridges or turning down the good things that are offered in life, I have vowed to be in touch with her and try to meet her one on one next time I am in the country. Perhaps she’d even be a good Ball date and as luck would have it there’s a ball just around the corner Hurrah! And I’m sure she’d be a good dancer so I’m dying to try the foxtrot with her.
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