Trials and Tribulations of Dating

A few weeks ago, I was invited to a – single – evening of wine and cheese tasting. The wine selection was honest, but I guess it was only a pretext to gather and meet new people. It was a nice evening. Most guests were charming, especially one with whom I had a good time. The conversation was easy, the mood comfortable; we seemed to have much in common. At the end of the evening, he asked if he could take me out to dinner. “I would love that!” A good answer! We exchanged phone numbers and promised to call.

A couple of days later he left a message on my voice mail stating how nice it was to have met me. I returned his call leaving pretty much the same message. The following day he called again wanting to know what kind of food I enjoy in order to make reservations. “I’m just not too keen on seafood. Allergies, you know.” We agreed to get together the following Thursday. On Wednesday he called and confirmed the plans; he was to pick me up at 7, the location was a surprise. “What should I wear?”

“Casual.” Casual…? If only I knew where we were going. A quick survey with all the girls at work confirmed that I shouldn’t wear a dress, too much for a first date, but pants, something classy. After work I rushed home, got changed and walked out the door. He was already waiting for me in his sharp Armani suit. Not casual! Not by any standard! He had brought me flowers, a gigantic bouquet which must have cost half my weekly salary. It was a little much. Then we drove off to La Clarinette, the most expensive French restaurant in town, where he insisted he order for the both of us. He chose the seven course meal with a bottle of Bordeaux. It turned out he had chosen the seafood meal… Great! This meal cost more than my weekly salary. Did I mention it was only a first date?

The morning after, I was writing a thank you note when I noticed I had received an e-mail from him. He was thanking me profusely for such a wonderful dinner and evening, hoping we could get together again soon. It would have been nice if he had let me do it, instead it turned that it was my pleasure, really… Twenty nine e-mails followed on that day.

Saturday morning comes along; I was curled up on the couch after my morning run, enjoying a nice cup of coffee when the phone rang. It was eight thirty. He wanted to know if I had plans for the day. An hour later, we finally hung up. We were to get together later on. A couple of hours before the scheduled time, he called again, determined to cover the gap by talking on the phone. I’m not good at that. Talking on the phone is a laborious task for me. Eventually we hung up and met at the beach for a stroll. By then, we had not shared any kind of familiarity. His first move was to kiss me on the lips, but I dodged brilliantly, the second, to hold me by the waist as we walked. This time my dodging wasn’t as subtle. I’m not keen in public display of affection, especially when there isn’t any. To discourage further fumbling, I put my hands in my jeans pockets. We walked for a while and then ate at a local Mexican cantina. I had a lime margarita with rock salt on the rim. Mid-sentence, he took his paper napkin, unfolded it, wrapped it carefully around his index finger and wiped something off my face. I almost jumped out of my skin. It ought to have been something really gross. It turned out it was a grain of salt. Who ever does that? How about “You’ve got salt on your lip” It reminded me of my mother who used to put saliva on a tissue to clean something off my face.

The following morning, the same routine started again, only this time, I didn’t answer the phone, and went about enjoying my day. By six o’clock he had left several messages. I called him back and gently told him that I felt slightly cornered. It was a bit intense; I would rather take things a tad slower and perhaps lighter. “Sure, it’s not a problem at all, I’m glad you told me.”

Two days later I received an 890 word e-mail of sheer panic. An e-mail about the size of this post! He was so, so terribly sorry he had made me feel so bad, he hoped he had not jeopardized the relationship. Since our last conversation, he had this terrible knot in the stomach. Funny enough, it ended with “sincerely”, and had been sent in the middle of the night. Although I had no ulterior motive when I asked him to slow down a little, his e-mail certainly made it clear that I should run away as fast as I could. A week later he left a message on my voice mail and again the following week, which I never returned.

Talk about being intense. It’s too bad, he was nice.