Friday, March 03, 2006

The Dinner

I figured I was probably being a doormat for having him over, but hospitality is too important a virtue in my family and upbringing. I just couldn't bring myself to 'uninvite' him, even if i may have been justified in doing so.

He was 15 min late, but he sent me a text and told me he would be late and then showed up bang on 7:15, so he got points for courtesy. And he showed up carrying a bottle of Hoegaarden, my fav beer. Damn it, as if he wasn't fabulous already it turns out he's also a teriffic dinner guest with great manners. Shit shit shit. This is not helping the recovery process.

I admit it, we had a really nice evening. He lavished praise on the meal and complimented my cooking skills repeatedly (which was both appropriate and accurate, if I do say so myself). We talked, and he aplogized for the email (didn't retract it though). I told him I was glad he was honest, and that I think he's really neat person and would like to be friends, to which he agreed readily.

(I always assume when guys say they really like me and think I'm teriffic but don't want to date me that it's because they don't find me physically attractive. I figure that if they liked me as much as they claim AND found me attractive they would date me. Does this make sense to anyone else? Am I off the mark here? You blokes especially, I would really appreciate your feedback on this. Don't spare my feelings.)

And then I laid my trump card:
The fastest way to a man's heart is through his chest with a sharp knife through his stomach. I figured it wouldn't hurt to WOW him with my culinary expertise (and Case Western Reserve University conducted a study several years ago which revealed that the smell most likely to stimulate sexual arousal in males was cinnamon), so i whipped out the ol' apple pie.

So over our pie and ice cream and white wine we chatted and laughed. Christ he's got a lovely smile. Dimples too. Melt my fucking heart. And then we went to the Cara Dillon concert, which was great. Truth be told I enjoyed the warmup act more than Cara Dillon, who has a lovely voice but doesn't articlate for shit and I was only able to understand about 5% of what she was singing. Her ensemble was fucking amazing though. They guy who played the pipes and whistles had to have had some kind of damn musical superpowers. His beat, power, and passion were relentless, and I've never seen a human move his fingers so rapidly in all my life.

June Tabor is performing at St. George's next week. Iain and i are both interested in seeing her, so he's going to see if he's free from work, but it looks like we may be going out again next week. And he offered to cook this time.

Thus we find ourselves back in familiar territory. I fancy him, he want to be "just friends." Ok. I can do that. I've done that before. For a while I'll keep trying to pursuade him to change his mind, but eventually I'll give up on that and accept and cherish the friendship for what it is. It just doesn't make sense to me to say "Well if you don't want to shag me and buy me roses than you're not even worth speaking to." I can't bring myself to tell someone that because they're not interested in a romance that they are therefore a waste of my time. I feel that if someone is worth know, they're worth knowing. And I like him. I like talking with him, spending time with him.

A couple of my best friends on earth are guys that I used to really fancy. Today they're some of the most understanding, supportive, caring friends i know. I just can't consider that a defeat in any way. So if Iain (you notice, HC, that i'm throwing in that unnecessary fourth letter) wants to be friends, i call that a gift, not a failure.




(Even if i would really like to shag him.)

4 comments:

hendrix said...

That pie looks brilliant! Come and cook for us!

"I always assume when guys say they really like me and think I'm teriffic but don't want to date me that it's because they don't find me physically attractive. I figure that if they liked me as much as they claim AND found me attractive they would date me"


I think you are off the mark on this (altho that could just be my ego talking cos I've had that line before too) I think that it's nothing to do with how attractive you are. You need a spark on both sides and you can really like someone and get on with them but then not have that spark (mind you you can also have that spark and not like a person or think that they're nice) A bastard would just try to shag you regardless of whether that spark was there or not...so I suppose that Iain (its galling me to write that extra i youknow) is a nice bloke...and theres none of us have that many friends that we can do without another one!

BTW. I did get your email (thank you! I'm really happy you did!) and I will reply but F's been on the big computer for the past 3 days recording the worst female singer I have ever ever heard in my life. She's so offkey she sounds like a tape being played backwards

No Shit Sherlock said...

Bleh. Life sucks like that, ay? I have that except same problem. Except not Scottish :( (I have a huge soft spot for the Northen and Scots accent. Dunno why. It's the English in me.) Don't worry. You're gorgeous and he will come round when he realises what a fool he is to be 'just friends'. (I realise I've never seen you, but you seem to be a gorgeous 'Merican lady)

ZB said...

'I have a huge soft spot for the Northen and Scots accent. Dunno why. It's the English in me' - because English people from the North aren't really English?

'His beat, power, and passion were relentless, and I've never seen a human move his fingers so rapidly in all my life' - it's amazing what you can achieve in the throes of passion. You never feel the bruises until the next day anyway.

ZB said...

'I have a huge soft spot for the Northen and Scots accent. Dunno why. It's the English in me' - because English people from the North aren't really English?

'His beat, power, and passion were relentless, and I've never seen a human move his fingers so rapidly in all my life' - it's amazing what you can achieve in the throes of passion. You never feel the bruises until the next day anyway.