Last night went very well. I left work early to go do my taxes, which I may not have bothered to do before. Shortly before I got home, Key texted me with some bad news. Her car broke down, so she couldn’t meet me at Little Olive. But she still wanted to go if I was willing to make the trek out to her place and pick her up. We had a fun, bantery conversation in which I made jokes about white horses, getting lost and ending up in Canada, and whether or not I was going to get clearer directions than “Evergreen Street”. Since I was home, I told her it wouldn’t hurt my feelings if we went to dinner earlier than 7:30 and to let me know when she was done getting ready. (Since I had asked her to dress up and all.)
When she was ready I drove out to pick her up. I didn’t quite make it to Canada, but I did go past her house about a half-mile before turning around. The numbers I could read on her mailbox did not match the address she gave me. She texted me again just as I turned around to let me know if I went up the small hill I had gone too far. I called and got her to describe the house. Her father is apparently a construction worker/plumb/electrician/Jack of all trades and built their home and another house on the property where her brother lives. Her brother’s house is a tall, curious looking building that looks like someone collected log cabins and stacked them on top of each other. It almost reminds me of Howl’s Moving Castle, now that I think about it. On the second story are two strange French doors with geometrical designs that are totally juxtaposed against the log home look.
Her parent’s house is a one story sprawling affair that still looks somewhat patchwork and defies the standard of what one expects a house to look like. I like that, though I’ll reserve judgement until I’ve seen more of it. Lumber and building materials were stacked all over alongside the outside of the home and garage. If nothing else, both buildings have a lot of character, which is more than can be said for what we like to call “modern” architecture.
Key wore grey tights, 3-4 inch grey heels and a white cashmere sweater tunic. It wasn’t what I had expected, (though I was prepared for that, since what is?), but it was a pleasant surprise. I am a fan of the look and I have never dated a woman who liked that style. I could see it also blending easily into what I call the “equestrian look,” which is similar, but with calf high boots. Another style I like. I was dressed in a dark grey suit with a blue and white striped no-iron button-up shirt underneath.
As soon as we got on the road she admitted to Facebook stalking me and declared she had two questions. The first escapes my mind at the moment, but the second doesn’t, since it was a statement. “You ballroom dance!” she stated excitedly. “Yes, but that’s not a question,” I pointed out. We continued talking for the twenty minutes it took to get to the restaurant from her house.
Coincidentally, Monday happens to be half-off bottle of wine night at Little Olive, a Mediterranean restaurant close to downtown. We were seated at a tiny, intimate, corner table with two huge windows and chairs perpendicular to each other. After getting Key a taste of the malbec, which she had never tried, we order a bottle and settled down to figure out what we wanted. I was very pleasantly distracted and found it hard to focus on anything on the menu. I glimpsed at the titles of all the items several times but I don’t know that I actually read any of them. I read that menu the way most people listen. I saw the words, but the meaning didn’t really register. I blame her eyes and the conversation.
Key, if you are curious, is 5’4”, with dark hair and dark eyes and light skin. She has that almost Oriental look to her eyes that some European mixes have. I have encountered similar features in a couple women I have known, though they were of Spanish/German heritage where Key is French/Scot-Irish/English/German. The other women I have met with these features were pretty and Key is no exception. Underneath her right eye on her cheek she has two beauty marks, one smaller and lighter than the one above. They almost look like a tear tattoo. It is another endearing feature.
Dinner was fantastic. Key ordered the gyro while I let the waitress convince me that I should order their chicken kabob. Between the excellent malbec, the chicken that had been marinated for 24 hours before it was grilled, and the lovely, charming company, the next two hours went by easily. When it came time for dessert I remembered my manners, (not that I’d forgotten them), and all the dating advice columns I have ever read and encouraged her to order dessert. She was tentative about making a choice even though it was obvious what she wanted, so I continued my current tradition of being decisive. We had a light, sweet Kahlua brownie. It was as pleasant a surprise as the rest of the evening. Brownies are usually too rich for me to truly enjoy.
After dinner we went back to my apartment for a while. I played a few of my songs for Key, which were well received. She was an attentive and appreciative audience. Rapt might be the most appropriate word. I felt like she listened to every word in all four songs, which is a good feeling. Not to mention she was staring directly into my eyes and made me smile like an idiot. In the best way. When I was done playing we sat and talked for a while longer. I tickled her knee, then admitted after she was done protesting that while, yes, sometimes I do tickle people to make them squirm, I am a very physical person and sometimes it is just an excuse to touch someone.
Having made that confession, I laid back with my head in her lap while I told her about the world my novel takes place in. If you mixed post-American civil war racial sentiments, the French revolution, a dash of steampunk, Peter Pan, and Narnia, you would be starting to get the picture. As that conversation came to a close, I decided to take action on something I’d been thinking about for a couple hours at least, sat up and kissed her. This also went very well, but that is all you get.
About 10:30, I took her home. We talked more on the ride, kissed goodnight and agreed that we should do something again, sooner rather than later. I am as fond of the kiss she planted on my cheek as the one I silently demanded for my lips.
All in all, I would call the night a success. Hopefully we will be able to get together again before the end of the week. I am going to call her a bit later and see what we can arrange. This could be good.
And a thousand words, goodnight.
-m0rg4n
When she was ready I drove out to pick her up. I didn’t quite make it to Canada, but I did go past her house about a half-mile before turning around. The numbers I could read on her mailbox did not match the address she gave me. She texted me again just as I turned around to let me know if I went up the small hill I had gone too far. I called and got her to describe the house. Her father is apparently a construction worker/plumb/electrician/Jack of all trades and built their home and another house on the property where her brother lives. Her brother’s house is a tall, curious looking building that looks like someone collected log cabins and stacked them on top of each other. It almost reminds me of Howl’s Moving Castle, now that I think about it. On the second story are two strange French doors with geometrical designs that are totally juxtaposed against the log home look.
Her parent’s house is a one story sprawling affair that still looks somewhat patchwork and defies the standard of what one expects a house to look like. I like that, though I’ll reserve judgement until I’ve seen more of it. Lumber and building materials were stacked all over alongside the outside of the home and garage. If nothing else, both buildings have a lot of character, which is more than can be said for what we like to call “modern” architecture.
Key wore grey tights, 3-4 inch grey heels and a white cashmere sweater tunic. It wasn’t what I had expected, (though I was prepared for that, since what is?), but it was a pleasant surprise. I am a fan of the look and I have never dated a woman who liked that style. I could see it also blending easily into what I call the “equestrian look,” which is similar, but with calf high boots. Another style I like. I was dressed in a dark grey suit with a blue and white striped no-iron button-up shirt underneath.
As soon as we got on the road she admitted to Facebook stalking me and declared she had two questions. The first escapes my mind at the moment, but the second doesn’t, since it was a statement. “You ballroom dance!” she stated excitedly. “Yes, but that’s not a question,” I pointed out. We continued talking for the twenty minutes it took to get to the restaurant from her house.
Coincidentally, Monday happens to be half-off bottle of wine night at Little Olive, a Mediterranean restaurant close to downtown. We were seated at a tiny, intimate, corner table with two huge windows and chairs perpendicular to each other. After getting Key a taste of the malbec, which she had never tried, we order a bottle and settled down to figure out what we wanted. I was very pleasantly distracted and found it hard to focus on anything on the menu. I glimpsed at the titles of all the items several times but I don’t know that I actually read any of them. I read that menu the way most people listen. I saw the words, but the meaning didn’t really register. I blame her eyes and the conversation.
Key, if you are curious, is 5’4”, with dark hair and dark eyes and light skin. She has that almost Oriental look to her eyes that some European mixes have. I have encountered similar features in a couple women I have known, though they were of Spanish/German heritage where Key is French/Scot-Irish/English/German. The other women I have met with these features were pretty and Key is no exception. Underneath her right eye on her cheek she has two beauty marks, one smaller and lighter than the one above. They almost look like a tear tattoo. It is another endearing feature.
Dinner was fantastic. Key ordered the gyro while I let the waitress convince me that I should order their chicken kabob. Between the excellent malbec, the chicken that had been marinated for 24 hours before it was grilled, and the lovely, charming company, the next two hours went by easily. When it came time for dessert I remembered my manners, (not that I’d forgotten them), and all the dating advice columns I have ever read and encouraged her to order dessert. She was tentative about making a choice even though it was obvious what she wanted, so I continued my current tradition of being decisive. We had a light, sweet Kahlua brownie. It was as pleasant a surprise as the rest of the evening. Brownies are usually too rich for me to truly enjoy.
After dinner we went back to my apartment for a while. I played a few of my songs for Key, which were well received. She was an attentive and appreciative audience. Rapt might be the most appropriate word. I felt like she listened to every word in all four songs, which is a good feeling. Not to mention she was staring directly into my eyes and made me smile like an idiot. In the best way. When I was done playing we sat and talked for a while longer. I tickled her knee, then admitted after she was done protesting that while, yes, sometimes I do tickle people to make them squirm, I am a very physical person and sometimes it is just an excuse to touch someone.
Having made that confession, I laid back with my head in her lap while I told her about the world my novel takes place in. If you mixed post-American civil war racial sentiments, the French revolution, a dash of steampunk, Peter Pan, and Narnia, you would be starting to get the picture. As that conversation came to a close, I decided to take action on something I’d been thinking about for a couple hours at least, sat up and kissed her. This also went very well, but that is all you get.
About 10:30, I took her home. We talked more on the ride, kissed goodnight and agreed that we should do something again, sooner rather than later. I am as fond of the kiss she planted on my cheek as the one I silently demanded for my lips.
All in all, I would call the night a success. Hopefully we will be able to get together again before the end of the week. I am going to call her a bit later and see what we can arrange. This could be good.
And a thousand words, goodnight.
-m0rg4n
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