After reluctantly reading my dating blog…Knives had a sudden rekindled romantic interest in going on a date with me. Perhaps he saw on opportunity to dump me yet again. Dump on the double. Double dump. That’s what my bathroom looks and smells like when both my sons are finished.
For some unknown reason, sometimes also known as Desperately Seeking Companionship on a Friday After My Kids Are Taken From Me By a man I Once Knew But Now Despise, I relented to this date.
Knives proposed making our originally planned lunch date into a happy hour instead. That’s a sign. Happy, and for a whole hour. I’m not sure I can do it, but that perma-grin solution I’ve been ingesting (tastes like wart-removal oil) is possibly, finally having the desired effect. I’ll test it out.
Plus, he agreed on a venue I have been dying to try but other dates have flatly refused. A rustic wine bar called PIS with mellow live music, bring-your-own board games and heat lamps. Already this environment narrows down the date compatibility quotient significantly. First, it’s not a chain restaurant and that fact alone is very intimidating to some people. Thankfully Knives is an urbanite, and not easily intimidated. He does not adore chain restaurants like Million Maples men do. Also, not many people in SoCal seem to be able to handle outdoor seating on dates. Or even outdoor dates. You always end up in first a car (everybody drives here; walking is outmoded unless on a treadmill fully bejeweled and wearing thick foundation and lipstick)…then after car, a bed if you get lucky.
But this is what I loved, and still very much love, about Knives. He gets it. And he gets me. He is willing to give this place PIS a try. I might even let him win at Othello as a bonus prize for volunteering, even suggesting himself, to date me for an hour on an otherwise fateful Friday.
Let’s pause here for a moment to consider ulterior motives. Knives has not gotten laid in a while, and might be feeling knotty. He knows I will devote my attention to him. He knows he has an admirer in me. He knows we will be taking separate cars (prevents shacking up together at either person’s shanty). Because in Million Maples why carpool or walk when you can guzzle gas?
Knives and I both want things we can’t have. He wants a retirement account and I want to retire, so I can
write date full time and rest in between. Even though we don’t have exactly what we want, it’s been much easier to move on in life, especially now that our wallets are so much lighter (not from pissing it all away at PIS; rather from the divorces).
We guzzle gas and wine and have a very good time. And retire. Goodnight.
Ha ha, Million Maples! Chain restaurants, gas guzzling, suburbia! You get it...and I got your blog! Keep it coming. Cathartic and funny!ReplyDelete
Ha ha! I always called it the Sleepy Hollow ..... funny writing!ReplyDelete