First date is quite important to understand each other , in my opinion. Yes , because it is the time when you want to impress and it shows off a number of goodies textbook . You want to look smarter , more beautiful, more pleasant, more stimulant, let’s face it , everyone has lied at least a little on the first date . But that is why I consider it a fundamental test: if, even with all the masks and magic tricks, you are not interesting, imagine it without … right ?!
I never went to the first date with the idea of finding the PerfectOne, indeed, we can say that for me it is more a social experiment, like: what would you strategically use to impress? Beauty, sympathy? Culture? Common interests? Diversity?
When it comes to me, I try to be as natural as possible, however in general there are four possibilities after a first date:
1-the OTHER is perfect for you, he played well his cards, and you feel you want to see him again … but YOU have not been equally appreciated. You pass the following weeks rewinding the appointment in your mind wondering where you were wrong. GAME OVER
2-YOU and the OTHER realise that there’s not a snowball’s chance in Hell and the date ends with the phrase “let’s remain friends” or “let’s keep in touch,” knowing that never ever will happen (except for very rare exceptions) . GAME OVER
3- YOU are wonderful, the OTHER however did not exceed your expectations, and you can not wait to go back home and got straight to bed and forget the bad evening. Indeed, some details are fixed firmly in your mind so you have gossip with friends. GAME OVER
4- YOU and OTHER found the harmony, so much that it’s almost morning and you haven’t even noticed it, the chemistry is there, the sympathy as well … LET’S GET IT PLAY
For sure, we have had first dates a little bit bizarre … , disastrous appointments , absurd, the kind we would like to forget but unfortunately it is impossible; my worst meeting remains the one about chicken. It’s been several years, but it remains indelible in my memory. There is an etiquette that the first appointments need places not too crowded that allow you to talk but do not inhibit the physical contact at all. The restaurant is a classic but rather problematic, because you do not know what the other likes eating, you don’t know if at the end of the dinner you split the bill or he pays for you it’s embarrassing, and there could even be food between the teeth that determines the rest of the evening, so I do not like it particularly.
But that’s exactly the situationwhere this unfortunate tale is set.
It was an evening of Spring, the stars were high in the sky and there was a light breeze, the restaurant was one of those very chic with twenty-two cutlery on the right hand, seven on the left and thirteen above the dish that even in the “Beauty and the Beast “I had never seen so many. I was full of antihistamines and I was thinking of what to say while the guy focused on the menu as if it were written in a foreign language. And then , when the waiter ( very good looking) asked the orders I had no idea what to get , so I naively said “the same ” after the Billy – equipped ordered .
The guy had ordered chicken .
I remember that when I got the dish I would have liked to cry.
He, the guy, looked at me happily and begun a long dissertation about football ( Boredom boredom boredom ) while he, the chicken , succulent, was staring at me , challenging me to eat it , but after a quick glance at the tables around I desisted from biting it violently how I would have done in any other place with any other person .
So, while he keeps talking , I think of how to cut that piece of chicken avoiding that the bone flies around the room. And I mull about the fact that in such a chic place they could also have removed the bone , no?
My parents have educated me well , I know perfectly well that I always have to start from external cutlery, I know how to keep the napkin, I know that I don’t have to talk with full mouth , and never, ever , for anything in the world , on a date I have to order shellfish or chicken for the very simple reason that it is ( almost) impossible to eat them without get splash with mud like a baby weaning !
After about half an hour of useless chatting around a penalty not given, and twenty on behaved referee insults, Billy-equipped realise that I have not touched any food. I actually really tried, but at the first attempt I soiled my blouse, at the second I nearly blind the waiter with a rebound of the knife … the result is that the chicken is still lying untouched in my plate.
I could have ordered something else pretendingthat I didn’t like it, but when he offers to cut the chicken and so I become stubborn , I tell him that I was impressed by his speech and that I am perfectly capable of eating a piece of chicken with fork and knife without the appetizing sauce that drip in the fingers where you can lick it, that’s the best part. He stares at me, the guy and even the chicken stares at me. I smile confident and I grab five different cutlery and with the skill of a surgeon I finally win my own game against the chicken. Which by the way was also saltless.
When I rise my face from the plate I see that his shirt has changed colour, because of the many times the sauce splattered on him.
Now , he could have taken it laughing , it could have become a witty anecdote to tell our friends . However he gets up angry and goes to the bathroom . The waiter , who had seen it all , comes over and tells me I’m his hero , he always wanted to throw something on to that snooty guy , but he had never been able to do it because he would have risked his job. He told me that he was supposed to finish working in an hour,
and if I wanted to wait for him, he would have offeredme the sweet , promising also to let me speak . He gives me his car keys and whispers to me ” run ” , just before the Billy – equipped, soccer-dependent , boring and touchy appear from the toilet .
At the end, I have never seen the guy again, the cake was delicious and I still eat the chicken with hands !