Date #4 with Mr. Major Potential.
Our similarities: comparable tastes in music, identical full-time single parent statuses, insatiable appetites for art, and we both “live” in a place where the new Heinz ketchup packet makes up the front page news.
He also skateboards AND has the ability to breakdance…
What more could a woman possibly ask for?
After passing three McDonalds and two Walmarts on Date #3 in an effort to find something meaningful, fun, and worthwhile to do, we had concluded that ART was in the future for Date #4. Since the art scene in our area primarily includes Kincaid look-alikes and a copper holly leaf sculpture, New York City became our destination.
I needed to be on my best behavior and not screw this up…
So, ~130 miles/2.5 hours later (car and train ride), I found myself in a building across from the Empire State Building reveling in artistic expression at its best (a video of a man nailing his foot to the floor, an 8′ x 10′ painting of Stephen Hawking in space…with a 2 foot drool strand hanging from his mouth, and a chandelier sculpture made from plastic forks). I was in my element and loving every bit…and my companion’s eyes and smile.
Since it was across the street, after being forced to remove my belt and step through a metal detector, I took the two required elevators to the ESB’s observation deck with the object of my affection. There we fought off the arctic breeze, wiped our noses, and tried to figure out which bridge was which, while one rug rat killed our romance with “Mom! Look a Foot Locker! MOM! LOOK ANOTHER FOOT LOCKER!”
All day I had forgotten one necessity: food. For breakfast, a handful of wasabi peas and coffee. Lunch, coffee. Dinner (sort of), one piece of cheesecake and coffee. I needed a post dinner snack. Olives.
The martini: dilute alcohol with…alcohol. That’s the basic recipe. 2 1/2 oz gin, 1/2 oz dry vermouth, 2 olives.
Over my first, we discussed how the 80’s made everyone lame including the greats: Billy Joel, David Bowie, and Robert Plant. During my second, he confessed how proud he was for not smoking around me all day…evidence of self-restraint, a quality I sometimes admire. This was one of those times. Mr. Potential told me that he tried but couldn’t partake in my love for spiked vermouth and primarily drank beer and whiskey. Okay, so not everyone’s perfect.
I said, “That’s understandable. I wish I could like beer.” (Not completely a lie. This would bring me closer to mainstream society.) My fingers lovingly, gently, yet with possessiveness, swirled the contents of my glass. “It’s basically alcohol diluted with alcohol.”
He advised, “Be careful with those things.” Famous last words.
My green eyes aimed straight for his Caribbean-flavored lifesavers, but had to take a moment of rest. My lids shut and reopened in the middle of kissing him in a familiar place. A place 130 miles away from NYC. A place better known as my kitchen. In a standing position.
More than 2 hours had gone by since sitting on that bar stool. I was in another zip code, another state. I had succeeded in doing something many scientists have spent years dreaming about. This was not a black out. I time traveled and without the use of a machine!
…but with 2 martinis??? Could I possibly have become that efficient??? Had the bartender drugged me??? It’s possible because after only 4 dates my counterpart stated, “I’ve seen you drink three times as much and…” Oh boy.
How much damage had I done? He claimed that he still found me awesome. And if I don’t remember committing any unsavory activity, did it actually happen?
In conclusion, it could have been worse…or maybe it was.