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I love food. Real food. Like pizza. Gluten-free base to keep the abdomen flat (#no-bloating-for-me). And I can eat. A lot. One of my special man friends has remarked on more than one occasion that the drawback of dining with me is that he never gets to finish off my meal.
Dinner with John13 was planned. Pizza. We had had the initial coffee meeting and it went well. The issues of food and beverage likes and dislikes had been clarified. He knew I was not a wooded Chardonnay kind of girl. And he knew I liked pizza. All good.
John13 erred: he ASKED me if I would like to be picked up for the date. Never ask a girl that question. The answer will always be the opposite of what she expected or wanted. Points lost. Of course I must be picked up. I arrived a little early for the dinner so I settled in at the bar , made friends with the barman and ordered a glass of something cheap and as un-nasty as is possible with wines by the glass.
John13 arrived shortly thereafter armed with a bottle of wine. "Why have you ordered wine?" he blurted out with shock forgetting to greet me in the usual sort of way, "I know you don't like it, but I have brought a really expensive bottle of Chardonnay, it cost over R300!" "Don't panic", I purred, "I shall have both my glass and your bottle." I would drink that wooded Chardonnay on purpose. And no, that is not expensive John13, I thought to self wearing my bitchy hat.
We settled in at our table for two. I shared that bottle of expensive (!) wine. "What would you like to order?" John13 asked me. I made my selection. The waitress came and took our order: "One feta, bacon, spinach, olive pizza on a gluten-free base, please" he asked the waitress. That was it. "Are you not eating?" I asked John13. "I am, we're sharing," he replied. We shared the pizza.
The following week, John13 was really excited. He had sold one of his companies for an extraordinary number of US Dollars and it was time to celebrate. "Dinner tonight!" he cried with a dancing voice. I was excited, too. Imagine how special the dinner would be. I donned my best kit and headed out for dinner. We met there. No comment. The restaurant is at the top of Kloof Street he had explained. I whizzed around the mountain all dolled up and gorgeous. The restaurant was a pizza place.
John13 had brought a bottle of wine. He didn't comment on its value this time. "What would you like to order?" John13 asked me after a glass or two and much clanging of glasses in honour of his financial victory. I made my selection. The waitress came and took our order: "One feta, bacon, spinach, olive pizza on a gluten-free base, please" he asked. That was it. "Are you not eating?" I asked John13. "I am, we're sharing," he replied. We shared the pizza.
I like pizza. But I prefer going out for pizza with my kids; we each have our own.