I have a date. I told a slight lie the other night about how well my evening went. Although my initial quarry went off with a taxi driver, I did meet a nice local girl who for some reason has agreed to go to dinner with me. It makes a much needed change from getting wrecked and flirting in bars with no success.
So I arrange to take my pretty companion to a nice Italian restaurant. Il Forno in The Zona Rosa is a nice place to spend an evening, with some good food and even better Chilean red wine. It’s lucky she speaks very good English too, as I would seriously have struggled to get further than ‘hola’.
I can’t remember the last time I went on a date. The anticipation, running the evening through your head, the ritual of getting ready, realising you’re getting ready far too late and cutting yourself shaving in the shower. It all comes flooding back, like riding a bike. I was never very good at that either.
I’m sitting on the curb side in front of the restaurant and although I don’t have a watch, I’m aware it is well past our eight o’clock meeting time. I’ve had my fair share of being stood up, and there is always that moment, past the point of no return, when you know she’s not coming. It’s rapidly approaching as she pulls up in a taxi and grins apologies for being a little late. I don’t usually mind late, so long as you actually turn up. Girls can be as late as they like for guys, but woe betide you if you’re a second after the hour for her.
We’ve all been on horrible dates. We’ve all had those nightmare scenarios where she’s not as good looking as you remember, you’ve suddenly got a heavy bout of flatulence, or you’ve left your credit card in your sock drawer. A friend wined and dined a young lady and she didn’t return from excusing herself from the toilet. I recall one date where I ended up being restrained by plain clothes police. I’ve had a date kiss someone else in the bar I took her to. I’ve found out a girl was married halfway through the evening. I didn’t have a leg to stand on though, I had a girlfriend at the time.
Long story short, this isn’t one of those experiences. Which is a shame, because I’ve got nothing humourous or calamitous to regail you with. It turns into a very successful evening, which was much needed and totally against the run of recent play. Whether this scratches my itch or wets my appetite for more remains to be seen. It will certainly make my remaining days in Medellin a lot more interesting.
The dating game
I have a date. I told a slight lie the other night about how well my evening went. Although my initial quarry went off with a taxi driver, I did meet a nice local girl who for some reason has agreed to go to dinner with me. It makes a much needed change from getting wrecked and flirting in bars with no success.
So I arrange to take my pretty companion to a nice Italian restaurant. Il Forno in The Zona Rosa is a nice place to spend an evening, with some good food and even better Chilean red wine. It’s lucky she speaks very good English too, as I would seriously have struggled to get further than ‘hola’.
I can’t remember the last time I went on a date. The anticipation, running the evening through your head, the ritual of getting ready, realising you’re getting ready far too late and cutting yourself shaving in the shower. It all comes flooding back, like riding a bike. I was never very good at that either.
I’m sitting on the curb side in front of the restaurant and although I don’t have a watch, I’m aware it is well past our eight o’clock meeting time. I’ve had my fair share of being stood up, and there is always that moment, past the point of no return, when you know she’s not coming. It’s rapidly approaching as she pulls up in a taxi and grins apologies for being a little late. I don’t usually mind late, so long as you actually turn up. Girls can be as late as they like for guys, but woe betide you if you’re a second after the hour for her.
We’ve all been on horrible dates. We’ve all had those nightmare scenarios where she’s not as good looking as you remember, you’ve suddenly got a heavy bout of flatulence, or you’ve left your credit card in your sock drawer. A friend wined and dined a young lady and she didn’t return from excusing herself from the toilet. I recall one date where I ended up being restrained by plain clothes police. I’ve had a date kiss someone else in the bar I took her to. I’ve found out a girl was married halfway through the evening. I didn’t have a leg to stand on though, I had a girlfriend at the time.
Long story short, this isn’t one of those experiences. Which is a shame, because I’ve got nothing humourous or calamitous to regail you with. It turns into a very successful evening, which was much needed and totally against the run of recent play. Whether this scratches my itch or wets my appetite for more remains to be seen. It will certainly make my remaining days in Medellin a lot more interesting.