Ethiopian Date
10-02-05, 10:05 PM

In the passenger seat sits a field cut, Fall flower bouquet of a Sunflower, bronzed Daisies, Babies Breath, greens and two bluish-purple flowers and Golden Poppies which is what the florist created in a minute after I told him, �Could you come up with something with Fall colors because I�m going on a date?� After all these years, I realized that I never gave flowers on first, second or even a third date because it seemed cliche or an act done in a movie. Pathetic as I am, I figured, why not give it a try? It works for others.

Nervousness aside due to a first time visit to her house, my original intention was a small bunch of flowers that could be hidden behind my back in one hand while I hold a bottle of red wine in the other as she answered the door. Smooth, I would be as she first greets me with a smile because she�s happy to see me and appreciative of the wine that I present with a left hand, then followed by producing the token surprise of affection bouquet with the right. When one has never exhibit such affection early on in a budding relationship, planning and consequences of the action has to be well-thought.

The cell phone rings as I�m five minutes into the drive to her house.

�Bob?�

�Yes?�

�It�s K.�

With a pleasant sing-song tone and happy to hear her voice. �I know.�

�I thought we had a date tonight?�

�We do.�

�Well, It�s 7:15 and you�re not here.�

�I�m sorry. I thought the date was at 7:30.� Immediate speculation and jumping to conclusions about her, I try to put these thoughts to bay that she may be a bit insecure and, well, a punctuality freak. I further explain. �I�m on my way. Did I mess up the time of the date? I thought it was 7:30. I'm only fifteen to twenty minutes away.�

�No. Maybe I got it wrong. I�m...well... never mind.�

�Okay, I�m on my way and will be there shortly.� With that, I cover my slight lie of being only fifteen minutes away and speed down the highway at 85 m.p.h. to gain time. At 7:31 p.m., I arrive at a shotgun style house with a nicely landscaped patch of yard connected by disjointed sidewalk from a protruding, century year old, Oak tree's roots. A nice quiet urban street lined with older homes when architecture was not produced by computers or homes by an assembly line. Each home was unique and the people living there even more so as evident by the various level of home maintenance and eclectic landscapes � some with junk, considered as art; others, with junk still considered junk.

Exiting my car with a bottle in the left and trying to swing the bunch around my back, the girth of the bouquet extended my hand to an uncomfortable and awkward position that produced a forward lean in my walk like that of a hunch back. On her front stoop, I press the door bell: producing a bouncing knee high dog with rabbit size ears jumping-up and licking the glass door. Quickly, I adjust the flowers to the front, noting I now look like a beauty pageant winner which is further than the truth and not quite the macho image I wanted. You see, I�ve been yearning for the new Dodge Charger or a late model car for such an occasion where the deep thundering, throaty engine roars my arrival and I exit wearing faded jeans, a cheap-looking white button shirt with subtle stripes, untuck of course, and a day old beard. Instead, I have the white suv with a dog barrier. However, I did manage the clothes as anticipating the date, I actually purchased the shirt ahead of time at a deep discount, clothes store because you can�t find a shirt like that in an upscale department store.

The flowers were unexpected and didn�t produce the response I anticipated but even I was unsure as to whether or not this was cheesy. Inside, I�m making mental notes and psycho analyzing the layout and her art work as she once was a ceramic artist and her works were displayed throughout. Some I enjoyed whereas others the sexual tension was overt � with images of dragons and snakes � however, I could tell this was an earlier period of her life, college years, as the male subject was consistent throughout the work. I nodded in approval at some and probably wide-eyed at others.

Our mis-communication quickly vanished over a glass of wine on the stoop while viewing life and talking about her home�s history, the neighbors and the neighborhood. A bit of jealously I felt because this was a lifestyle I envisioned for myself years ago and not the ubiquitous suburban life I now lead. Yet, in a small way, I noted I couldn�t live here because the yards were not large enough for my cattle herding dogs who just seem lethargic now because they chased off all the squirrels from my yard and leaving the blind moles for entertainment. From a dog�s perspective, or even a cat�s, where is the challenge in catching a blind mole? Why bother? I�ll sleep all day and eat cookies.

The Department of Health rated the cleanliness of the Ethiopian restaurant a �B�. For the first time, eating solely with my hands in a restaurant, as if I didn�t eat Big Macs and fries this way, I expected an �A� and hot warm towels prior to the meal. Earlier in the day, I envisioned a restaurant with pillows on the ground for sitting and veiled canopies. My irrational fear of removing my shoes to eat dinner quickly vanished as we were lead past the dinner style chairs and tables to an raised stage-like area that sounded hollow under foot and hidden behind a shear curtain that oddly appeared to be hanging from a shower rod. Disappointed, behind the transparent shower curtain were two folding wood chairs separated by a laminated, simulated oak, collapsible folding television tray.

My date excused herself to the restroom to wash her hands and I decided against it, not only because of the �B� ranking but also the other half of the restaurant double as a Club Miami nightclub where oddly there wasn�t much of any night life or entertainment. Maybe, the Ethiopian sounds with Miami influences don�t translate to this good ole boy, pick-up driving, bourbon drinking town?

The waitress abruptly draws back the shower curtain and I expected a knife to drive into my heart with shrieks. No, that noise was the DJ testing his mix. Before leaving, my date instructed me as to what to order and make sure that I got plenty of water. Trying to explain this to the waitress fell upon deaf ears as I noted her authentic, ethnic heritage dress of black Adidas sweat pants with white stripes, a white t-shirt and food stained white apron. She wouldn�t leave unless I ordered a drink, then I finally succumbed to ordering a Budweiser.

Shortly my date returned and so did the depressing voice waitress who didn�t possess a Budweiser. Instead, I ordered a Miller Lite. �Seriously, I didn�t want to order any drinks other than water. She just wouldn�t listen. I felt sorry for her because she seemed depressed and wouldn�t leave with the order.� This seemed to be the waitress m.o. because periodically she would rip back the curtain and be dismayed that we were eating the food.

�Really? You like it? You don�t seem you like it. You haven�t eaten anything. You don�t like it.�

�We�re talking. Really, he likes it. We�re just talking too much to eat. I�ve been here before many times and I like it. Don�t worry, we like it.�

�That woman should be in my family.� I added after the waitress left after her eighth guilt trip. �Man, she sounds like my grandmother where you couldn�t leave after three helpings or it would be considered an insult.� The dinner was good and not as spicy as I hoped. The �bread� seemed like pancakes with which you grasp the assorted foods with one hand and you hope it stays until you pop it in your mouth. Speed is important as most of the consistency was that of a stew or Mexican beans. Nonetheless, I won�t be afraid of Ethiopian food and will gladly seek another restaurant that is not so depressing.

Afterwards, we returned to her house and resided in the lounging room decorated with art, books, magazines and colorful rugs � all focused to just lounging. With a glass of wine, the conversation continued and I learned of her past and some of the guys she dated. Not that I questioned her about the past relationship topic but it was information offered. I learned that within the very short time I�ve known her, we spoke more about �deeper issues� than the seven months with her past boyfriend. She also claimed to attract a certain kind of person that had me wondering as to whether I should look in the mirror to see if these same qualities existed in me because some seemed so pathetic that I didn�t want to fall into this category, yet I knew I matched a couple.

Once again, we took advantage of the couch but a line was drawn as to how far sexually it could advance. For me, this becomes frustrating. For her, it seems I have some talents to get her where she needs to be. Not that the sex, or there lack of has anything to do with this, but it seems after the third date and month and half of chasing her, I�m nearing a decision point as to whether or not I want to continue this. By the third or fourth date, shouldn�t one know if there is something there or not? To be continued...

Yesterday - Tomorrow