Maybe it was your smile. Teeth just crooked enough to be distracting. Just yellow enough to cause one a moment’s pause. How the peppery tang of your breath was noticeable regardless of proximity.
Maybe it was the way that you punched me in the kidneys and insistently shouted “No!” when I asked you if you had been eating pizza that day.
Perhaps it was the confidence that you projected. Although you hadn’t met me before, you treated me as if we’d been married for years, barking orders and whittling away at my self-image. You didn’t even feel that you had to wear deodorant. That’s how comfortable you felt with me.
Now, I don’t usually do this. But I’m writing you to let you know that I’d really love to see you again.
I know the evening didn’t go as smoothly as it could have. I suppose it’s on me to take the blame for that. Things got off on the wrong foot as soon as we were kicked out of our second cab. I know that it was out of line for me to point out that, yet again, our cab driver was clearly a landed immigrant with a cordial manner and a firm grasp of the English language. It wasn’t my place to make note that both drivers were wearing baseball caps and most certainly not wearing “towels”, as you put it. I apologize for that. Maybe you were right. Perhaps they really are parasitic agents for a pagan death machine. I suppose I may not have significant background in these issues to have argued the point.
Although it became extremely clear that taxi cabs weren’t the way for us to travel, the opportunity to walk together to the restaurant was very pleasant. I think we really grew closer. We both learned a lot about you and about my ability to nod and act surprised or engaged. I’m really glad that you got to see that. I’m really proud of it.
I feel that things really started to turn around for us when we got to the restaurant. When our drinks came back a little bit late, you asked the waiter if he’d gotten “lost inside of one of your poofty friends’ assholes”, and I think we all shared a good moment there. While all of my drinks after that point seemed a little thicker than they should have, it was still pretty clever of you!
I don’t mind that you ordered an expensive crab platter and only wound up spooning up the garlic butter. Maybe you were nervous. It certainly seemed that way, as you pounded back Malibu rum cocktail after Malibu rum cocktail. Nerves. That had to have been the reason for the drinking. Don’t worry, I understand.
You really started to open up to me, I felt. I can pinpoint the moment that I really felt like you were letting me in. Around your seventh or eighth drink, you looked right into my eyes. Raising your hand and pointing your index finger right at my face, you said: “My mother… is a rotten cunt.” Your candid appraisal of your mother made me feel like you really trusted me. You couldn’t share this kind of intimate conversation with just any stranger… could you?
After I picked up the massive bill and you pocketed the tip that I had left for the waiter, you grabbed me by the tie and pulled me in the direction of the club playing loud dance music next door. It choked me a little bit and you got butter stains all over my tie, but your assertiveness really excited me!
I bought you a drink and you dashed off into the crowd on the dance floor, presumably to stake us out a good spot to cut a rug. It took me quite a while to find you, though, which is strange considering your distinctive mustard-yellow hair colour. When I finally did catch up with you, you were delivering CPR to a large, muscular choking victim just outside of the men’s washroom. Your compassion is incredibly attractive. I stopped for a moment and watched you stroke his bald head for a moment after he has started breathing normally again, comforting him.
The game of hide and seek that ensued for the rest of the evening was fun, but ultimately exhausting. I would constantly look for you, but only find you near the bar, where I would buy you a drink and then lose you again. After the dancehall cleared and the place was closing up, though, you became a lot easier to find. You were pretty stumbley at this point, but I would like to think that you would have put your arm around my waist even if you hadn’t been.
We got out into the street and you vomited onto my shoes. I started to say something comforting, but you immediately cut me off and insisted “I don’t vomit! I voe-mais!” I was slightly puzzled at first. I then realized that I had been right all along. You had been eating pizza that day.
When that car pulled up and you got in, I was a little bit disappointed that our night had come to an end. Obviously, you must have made arrangements for a ride to pick you up, although I didn’t catch his name and he didn’t seem to know yours. You grabbed onto my crotch and squeezed hard, while jamming your tongue down my throat. It was the slimiest moment of bliss I can recall from my last 26 years on this planet. And with that, you were gone.
I never expected to fall for a girl named Vonda. I certainly never expected to spend an entire week’s pay on a date. And I definitely wasn’t expecting this ferocious cold sore. But wasn’t it a wise man who once said “The greatest joys in life are those that are least expected”? Don’t ask me because I have no idea. The only thing I do know is that I would love to see you again.
You have my credit card.