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A continuation from last week’s STORYTIME TUESDAY.
I was positively smitten with BM after our first date. He travelled a lot for work but we kept the embers ablaze with texts, emails and *le gasp* phone calls (I abhor talking on the phone and yet it’s all I wanted to do with him). He would tell me about his next great idea that caught the eyes of his superiors and I’d pat him on the back. I’d tell him about the amount of food I crammed back that afternoon and he’d textually stroke my belly. It was a great partnership, equal give and take in my book.
We hadn’t been out that many times but we had built a strong connection through all the ways we stayed in touch. Because he was away so much, every time we hung out meant that much more and we didn’t take it for granted. I actually loved the whole arrangement. I did me while he was away – I hung out with friends, worked, whatever…and throughout the day I’d get an email or two. Maybe a text, and always a phone call before bed. One of the weeks he was in town he asked to make me dinner… In his home!!! He’d mentioned, on many occasions, how much he enjoyed cooking. Other than rotten-tomatoed nachos, I’ve never had someone want to prepare a meal for me. For some reason it made me nervous. You see, I’m a human garbage dump. I eat almost everything. What if he made something, the one thing in this world, that made me barf real chunks all over his table and chairs? *single blink* He told me to trust him, so I did.
Let me paint a picture of how this evening went down:
I arrived at his home and he asked what I’d like to drink as he led me to his living room. He told me to have a seat and brought in two drinks and sat beside me. We made a toast to the night ahead and then he said he was going to start dinner. I got up and asked what he needed me to do and he looked at me as though I morphed into Gary Busey and made a poem out of the letters of his name. He disappeared into the kitchen and just as I slinked back down onto the sofa, he returned with another drink (for me) and picked up a remote control. He pressed a button and a movie screen emerged from the ceiling. He told me he knew I’d missed Saturday Night Live and other shows from the previous weekend and had created a folder with my name on his high-tech tv system with all of them queued for me to watch. He flashed his movie star smile and went back to the kitchen closing the french doors behind him. There was a moment when he was at the stove (his back to me) when I saw him taste the sauce he was making. He shook his head as though to say, “Nope, this isn’t gonna cut it for what I’m trying to do here,” and my heart grew three sizes that day.
I was caught up in one of the shows when I noticed the kitchen lights had dimmed. He opened the door and asked me to join him at the table that was set with schmancy silverware, cloth napkins and candles lit everywhere. He wouldn’t take a bite of anything until I had tasted it first. It started with a tomato and bocconcini salad followed by shredded brussel sprouts w/ bacon. The main course was a pasta in a homemade cream sauce (not Alfredo) with steak. And guys, he gave me the big steak. Can I get a swoon-swoon!!! He rounded it off with chocolate mousse for dessert. He genuinely found pleasure in seeing me enjoy the entire meal. This….is how you wine and dine a chick. IT WAS THE MOST ROMANTIC MOMENT OF MY LIFE.
Oh wait…no it wasn’t. That mo’ will be explained next week…