From time to time, life hands you little moments where you realize, despite the spilled coffee and the missed subway and the growing inability to digest dairy, that you have it pretty good.
This is not one of those times.
After work yesterday I met up with a friend/colleague at a wine bar in the
Soon after, my friend showed up. We remained at the bar and exchanged greetings before ordering. My friend, being both a connoisseur and the one paying, managed to order a great bottle of Pinot Nero despite the fact that he is married with kids and doesn’t wear an ascot on a daily basis. He did the thing where he asked me what it tasted like and, being one who likes to impress, I made pretend I was concentrating on the flavors after each sip. Then, as he would spout out a word, I would quickly and softly echo it.
Him: “I taste blackber-.”
Me: “Blackberry . . .”
Him: “-ry and cassi-“
Me: “Cassis . . .”
Him: “-s With a hint of . . .”
Me: “With a hint of . . .”
We stayed for an hour or so talking shop and when it came time to leave he handed his credit card to the bartender and asked for the bill. She came back moments later with two pieces of paper. “This one is for you,” she said, handing my friend the receipt, “and I’m supposed to give this to you,” she said, handing me a small piece of paper folded in half.
My friend looked at me wide-eyed and let out a small breath of astonishment. “Is someone trying to pick you up?” he asked.
I unfolded the paper and read the top portion:
I was floored. I’ve been hit on before by girls, but never this direct (capital H-O-T?), and never in a place that didn’t have vomit in the urinals and a three-for-one Jagermeister special, let alone a classy establishment where you ordered wine by the name, not just the color.
I quickly scanned the room to see if anyone was watching me read the note. There were two girls sitting straight down the bar from us. Was I correct when I thought I caught the blond on the left giggling at me earlier? Yes, Virginia, I think I was. Beaming with confidence, I looked back down at the bottom portion of the note.
My first thought was, “What an unusual name for a girl . . .” before my friend looked over my shoulder and asked, “Does that say Eddie?”
It sunk in.
Me: “Yes . . . it does.”
Him: “Maybe it’s supposed to be Edie?”
Me: “If it is, Edie has an odd way of describing herself to strangers.”
Him: “Ready to go?”
Me: “Yeah, I think so.”
Still, on the subway ride home I found that I was less disappointed than I thought I would be. After all, not only did Eddie find me attractive enough to go out on a limb guessing I was gay (which isn’t that long a limb considering I was sniffing wine and discussing David Sedaris, not to mention the lighting was totally flattering on my new haircut), but Eddie also went out on that limb while I was there with another guy. For all he knew, we could have been on a date, and my date could have been a wine connoisseur/mixed martial arts champion. So even though I was hit on by “Tall and Handsome Eddie” instead of “Has a Vagina Edie”, I guess in the grand scheme I could have it a lot worse and I could have finished off 2007 without ever being solicited by a secret admirer. Here’s to strong finishes. (Not like that, Eddie.)
Happy New Year everyone. See you in ’08.