Most of Saturday was spent preparing for my date with Julie. I consulted several friends (all female, of course -- what do guys know about women?) about what (not) to do, how to act, etc. Taking advantage of an absolutely gorgeous day, I went running along the esplanade shirtless to 1) get a tan and 2) fish for compliments, whistles, etc. In course of my run, I concluded that females are far more likely to look at a guy while trying to look like they're not looking -- or at most, look and coyly smile at a guy -- rather than whistle or yell out "Ooh! I'd love to get a piece of that!" Gay men on rollerblades, as I discovered, are very vocal about expressing their interest, however.
Having received enough smiles from women and one solicitation from a man, I ran back to my place to get ready for the date. Already quite confident, I was also reassured about the evening because of my other plans. I had purposely set up the date on the same night as Jim's bachelor party, primarily for two possible outcomes. If the date went poorly, it was a good excuse to get out of the date. And even if the date went very well, it would be a good idea to not rush things, and just leave early with the possibility for another date in the future. I called Jim to ask what the dress code was for the party. He wasn't there, so naturally, I dressed in a suit and figured that would do for both the date and the party.
I got to the Park Street T stop about ten minutes early, but she was there before me. Dressed in a tight, pink blouse, black skirt and matching black knee-high boots, one look at Julie made me seriously reconsider my waiting-for-true-love vow of chastity. If I were a cartoon character, my eyes would have bulged two yards away from my face, and my heart would have visibly pounded out of my chest.
I greeted her with a hug, and she replied with an even tighter one, forcing her breasts into my chest as if to say to me, "They're real, and they're spectacular." [TO ALL WOMEN READERS:] Not that this mattered to me, because it's the heart that's important. [TO ALL MALE READERS:] Probably a 38C at the very least. [BACK TO ALL READERS:] She smelled too strongly of some perfume, as though she had been assaulted by one of those perfume vendors at Filene's, but I didn't really care. Unlike women, who seem to use all five senses when selecting a mate, we men have a tendency to think with our eyes.
We walked through the Boston Common and the Gardens, and it was the perfect late afternoon/very early evening for a first date. There were lovers all around us, as though the day had caused Eros to shoot his arrows at anyone and everyone in sight. Someone played an accordian on the bridge overlooking the Duck Pond. The weather was warm and inviting, but not too hot. Yeah. Everything was pretty much perfect. Save for our conversation.
Julie kept asking me questions about myself, past, present, future, ambitions, goals, dreams, fantasies, etc. She did not seem romantic or playful, but analytically determining whether or not I was worthy of her as a long-term investment. It felt very much like a job interview. Apparently my credentials got me somewhere, because she started to seem very interested in a writer/runner/boxer/piano player/soon-to-be-kendo'jin (I start in two weeks) who works to raise money for sick children. At one point, she insisted that I had to be a liar, because a guy like me probably had a girlfriend on the side that I wasn't telling her about. I insisted that I was single, and as we stood there looking at each other, the sexual tension between us grew very thick.
As we continued walking through the Boston Gardens, I suggested we go to dinner at Pho Pasteur. She agreed, and then pulled out a cigarette. "Oh!" I said in a surprised tone. "You smoke?" Immediately, Julie's face grimaced under the weight of more emotional baggage than I could have anticipated. In an angry and resolute voice, she said "Okay. I really don't want to deal with this now." Shocked at the drastic change in her temperment, I tried to salvage things. "I'm sorry," I apologized. "I'm just surpised because we met at a gym and..." She interrupted and rolled her eyes at me. "Jesus! You're just like my father!"
Okay. Hold the fucking phone. I like to think that I'm generally a good guy. A guy who helps out complete strangers. A guy who you can take home to Mom and Dad. A guy who does his best to support humanitarian, environmental and educational causes. Generally speaking, I like to think I am a good man. But I am still, nevertheless, a man. And men have a tendency to want respect. Maybe if she had only interrupted me, the date would have gone on. If she had only rolled her eyes, or compared me to her (presumably overbearing) father, things would be fine. But all three forms of disrespect at once? Oh, that's it. I emotionally cut myself off from that date faster than you can say "Whachoo talkin' 'bout, Julie?"
"Here's fifteen dollars," I told her, taking a $10 and a $5 from my wallet. "I recommend that you get the Ga Xao Gung. It's very good. Have a nice night." And with that, I turned around and walked off to kill time before meeting up with everyone at Jim's bachelor party. She called me an asshole as I walked off. I ignored her and had a great time at Jim's party.
I am an asshole, but she kept the fifteen dollars.