Sunday, May 23, 2010
2 Good 2 B True
So date #3 with my Moroccan Prince started on time, but he brought along his visiting niece from Paris. I didn't mind at first because I thought I'd have a chance to brush up my francais and have a person to visit if I ever make it to France. And I still wasn't all that big on being alone with him (I had been uncomfortable with the hand holding and kisses). Anyhow, he picks me up and guess who's sitting in the front seat? Plus he didn't open the back door for me. Oh, so maybe this isn't a date after all. So as I sit quietly in the back, he says "are you o.k., why so quiet, my Princess?" Duh! Maybe it's the third wheel sitting next to you. Anyhow, he takes us to this fab seafood buffet across town, and it was quite fun. Although I did start to notice little things that bug me about him, like eating with his mouth open and talking with food in his mouth. Just little things. Oh and the accent and not being able to understand what he was saying was getting old. And him always answering a sentence with, huh? you know what I mean? Anyhow, niece starts holding her stomach all through dinner and I ask her if she's ill. She says it's acid reflux. So even though she took two heaping platefuls of food, which she barely touched, she still managed to kill the dessert table with no problem. Me, on the other hand, devoured every mouthful. So the plan after dinner was that we were going to hear some jazz music (I had put tickets aside for us). Lo and behold, we start heading in the other direction to his house and apparently niecy was too ill to come so we were dropping her off. He gave me a tour, very Moroccan, very clean, most fab bed I had ever seen (huge 4-poster), too bad he'll never see me in it! Anyhow, off we go, an hour late for the show, and he says when we get there that he hasn't slept in 2 days (I told you he was a workaholic) and was just going to take a cat nap, and then he would come to catch the second half and meet mom. I'm still waiting to hear from him. Funny thing, as I had almost completely talked myself into a relationship, the universe came through with an out. I had wondered how I was going to break it to Mr. Nice Guy without hurting him. And now I have the perfect reason. He ditched his Princess. He knew I didn't have a ride home. So I had to wait for the band to finish packing up their stuff (did I ever feel like a groupie) and then one of my brother's bandmates who lives a block from me, offered me a ride home. As I sat alone drinking a complimentary glass of red wine, I told myself, "men ain't sheet." Even though I knew he was tired, and I told him it was okay if he didn't stay, he was the one who insisted on coming back. Being left in the club brought back unpleasant memories from a former crackhead BF. My sister-in-law remarked earlier, "you have to stay away from these men who like to sleep in cars." I looked at her questioningly. Then I remembered my absentee husband, pulling that same ploy. At any rate, on the ride home, I had a nice conversation with a sax player that I had just met. If it hadn't been for the new gorsight that emailed from El Paso earlier yesterday, I probably would have felt worse than I did. Plus my bro said to me, "if I were you, I'd have lots of BFs." So note to self: If he doesn't seem like your type, no matter how nice, go with your inner voice and just keep looking. Because if there was a spark, height nor lack of teeth would matter. Sounds like a plan!