April 27, 2007
It is spring in New York. There’s really nothing quite like it. The trees are in bloom in Central Park, and the weather is absolutely divine.
It is clear that I still have a terrible case of Spring Fever. It is also possible that my hormones are running amok since my hot flashes are picking up again and my ability to multitask is diminishing.
It could be menopause, but it’s not just me. Clearly everyone has Spring Fever because my e-mail box is bursting at the seams. Most of the mail is ridiculous banter from men who can’t even complete a full sentence. I quickly go through them, hitting the delete key. Then there is and e-mail that is different; he seems to be clever, smart and charming! Can this be possible?
We decide to join each other in an instant-messaging session and within minutes he has me in fits of laughter. He says he is just a couple of years older than I am and that he has no idea how to post an electronic picture to the Web. We chat easily for some time with occasional bursts of laughter. On the spur of the moment, he asks if I will meet him. He’ll come to wherever I want and will buy me dinner. I stopped dead in my tracks. I was sure the word "no" was forming on my lips, but I surprised myself by saying yes.
The weather was lovely so I put on a low-cut frilly blouse, a skirt and heels. My makeup looked great, and I was having a good hair day. Even my doorman, who rarely speaks, commented on my appearance as I left the building.
Ever hopeful, I walked into the restaurant smiling. What I saw was a horrible, old, fat, bald and ugly man looking at me with a big grin on his face. I don’t use any of those words lightly, but I couldn’t believe my eyes. If he was in fact only 54, the years had been very unkind to him. I had apparently agreed to have dinner with Santa’s evil twin.
It was one of my favorite restaurants, and he had been funny and charming in his writing so I decided to buck up and make the best of it. I ordered a drink and we perused the menu. As we were waiting for our orders to arrive he looked at me and regaled me with one of the most vulgar stories I have heard in some time. Certainly the most vulgar stories I had ever heard uttered from a stranger.
I was stunned. I briefly considered standing up and walking out, but was too curious. I had to ask. "Does that story work for you? Do you find women are charmed by that story?" He admitted he didn’t know why he had told me the story, but alluded to how he felt it defined submission. Then, he quickly apologized as dinner arrived. We discovered that we in fact did have a lot in common and had a lively conversation about the theater.
Finally, dinner was over. I thought I made it very clear that I was not interested in any further communication with this evil Santa. He paid the bill, and as we left the restaurant he made it clear that he intended to come to my apartment. As he said so I noticed that he picked up the bag of "toys" he had brought with him. This Bad Santa actually believed that I was going to allow him to take me home, restrain me, and do God knows what.
A cab arrived and we jumped in. I made it clear that he was not coming over, but he still thought it was appropriate that his sausage-fingered hand should fall on my thigh.
I have given this date considerable thought over the last few days. Was I really that gullible? Did I look as stupid as that? Did he really think I would let him come over and tie me up? I guess I’ll never know. No matter what the answer is, the one thing that is clear, and any man who may be reading this should know that there is no situation where it is appropriate to bring your toys to the dinner table.
Comments
Margo (anonymous) says...
Well, now I've heard everything.
April 27, 2007 at 4:23 p.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )
Theresa (anonymous) says...
I wonder if this is a New York thing or if there are just so many more single men in the city that the weirdos tend to surface more frequently.
May 2, 2007 at 4:44 p.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )
haynes (anonymous) says...
Yes, the answer is do not bring your Toys to Dinner unless they are a private jet, an European Sports Car, or an American Express Black Card. Honestly, what idiot brings his toys to dinner-- a nice rose or a book would have been sufficent.
May 18, 2007 at 10:37 p.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )
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