“Houston and Ludlow.”
“Oh, right,” silence. “How do I get there?”
Now, I don’t condone refusing to ask for directions. However, I also think it’s important a guy is someone self -sufficient.
“Well, where are you now?”
He told me where and I explained he needed to go North a few blocks and West a block or two.
“Is that left or right? I’m overwhelmed by the city.”
Fabulous. You know you live here, now, right? And there is a multitude of applications online that can show you how to get from point A to point B.
“You know what?” I began. “Why don’t you stay put and I’ll just come to you.”
It was agreed. I huffed from my apartment over to our new meeting spot. He was no where to be seen. I called him.
“Hey, are you here?” I asked.
“Oh, I started walking in the direction I thought you’d be coming from – you must have snuck by me.”
Seriously? You ask. Seriously.
“Ok, no problem. Where are you now?” He was about 10 min in the wrong direction. I told him not to move and that I would be there soon.
And there he was in all his glory. Old Navy cargo shorts, socks, hiking SANDALS, white undershirt, Zach Morris/Ocean Spray wave gelled bangs. Grinning from ear to ear.
“Hi!” he shouted as he started to cross the street, before almost being hit by a car. “Oh, oops. I’M GOING TO WAIT OVER HERE!”
Please stop talking.
I gave him the “ok” sign and smiled.
Once we made our way to the same side of the street, I had the delight (aka challenge) of figuring out where we should go. He didn’t want to get a drink so we were left, yet again, with coffee.
We went into a tiny coffee shop and approached the counter.
Gonna punk out again, Model?
Much to my surprise, he ordered a coffee immediately after I put my bottle of water on the counter.
“That will be $4.25,” the cashier said with a smile – looking at Model.
Model looked at me. I looked at Model. Cashier looked at me. I looked at Cashier.
“Unless – I’m sorry – the water is $1.25 and the coffee is $2.00,” the waiter stumbled all over himself.
Yup, that’s right. I’m going to wait for you to pull out your wallet Kimosabe.
I should have known better – no wallet.
Model breathe/laughed with an awkward shoulder shrug and “ehhh.”
“One dollar…” he pulled a crumpled dollar out of his pocket, looked at me and cashier, breathe/laughed again.
“Ten cents…” out came a dime.
For the love of GOD! Fine, I will pay for myself if it means bringing this social torture to an end.
I pulled out the smallest bill I had – a $5 and before I even extended it to the cashier to for myself, “Oh wow! Thanks for covering my coffee.”
The waiter was in shock. I was dumbfounded. I knew, though, if I didn’t move the focus along quickly I would be forced into lesbianism or murder.
“So how was apartment hunting with your dad?”
He perked up, “It was great! We never really did much bonding when I was younger, so it was nice to have something to do together.”
Ughhhhhhhhh – boring.
“Hah – oh yeah? Never catch in the yard or anything?”
“No.” he snapped.
Guess I struck a chord there.
He regained himself and continued, “I mean, I just never really got it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Like, I don’t understand the point. Why would people spend time throwing a ball back and forth?”
Now, I happen to be a girl who loves sports. Is “catch” a sport? No. But you better believe there is no way I could date a guy who doesn’t “get” the point of catch – much less one who thinks apartment hunting is an appropriate alternative. Grow a pair.
So I said, naturally, “Right.”
He was pleased with my response and we finished our coffee talking about my face being symmetrical (a la Betty Crocker) and his distain for sports of any kind. Perfect evening.
“Well, I should probably head back to my apartment – have to get up early for work.” Translation: Stop talking about hating football, baseball and hockey. This is never going to work. Please let me go.
“Ok, I’ll walk you.”
“It’s a bit of a hike…”
“Well I’m having so much fun – and there’s nothing I need to get up for early tomorrow. I’m happy to walk with you.”
Fabulous. I will say though, if I was into him, this would have been model (yuck yuck) behavior.
I thought the silence was nice. He, apparently thought it was a bit suffocating.
“Yeah so I can’t believe how graceful your fall was the other night.”
Thanks for bringing that back up. “Yeah – not to mention that I was asking about the sexy models you date at the time.”
“Oh right. No, I don’t date models. All that boniness freaks me out.”
That was the best thing I heard out of his mouth in any of our interactions.
“Plus,” he gave what Wikipedia calls Sign of the Horns. “Fertility rules!”
“Hah – what?”
“Fertility rules,” again with finger horns and he threw in a tongue out of the mouth for good measure.
Yup. Fertility rules. Vagina hat is something that is at least fairly easy to interpret. What the HECK does “fertility rules” mean? Here’s what I’ve come up with – through the help of friends:
- I like curves.
- I like that I can impregnate you.
- I like to confuse blonde girls.
- I don’t know what fertility means.
Any other interpretations are welcome – please comment.
To top off the evening, I turned to say goodbye and he tornado-tongued me. We’re not in Maine anymore, Model.