Before ‘Sir English’ and I embarked on our quest for a dinner locale, I decided it would be a good idea to offer ‘Beercan’ a peace offering, as he was SLIGHTLY inconvenienced for a short time the evening before being locked out. He is a mean and vile individual at his best, with the inept ability to make a mountain out of a molehill, and I had a feeling he’d be looking for the first opportunity to reduce me to shit. Thus I decided my new friend and I should make a pit stop so that I could purchase some beer that ‘Beercan’ could likely appreciate – which I later left in front of his door with a sincerely written apology in hopes there would be no further retribution ie. murdering me in my sleep.
‘Sir English’ and I spent an amicable evening over dinner at (most appropriately) The Queen Mother Cafe, albeit made it a rather early evening as he began to feel the effects of jet-lag and the 5-hour time difference. We agreed to meet up the next morning to visit a museum on the outskirts of town, as he had been commissioned to write an article for a UK magazine – his brilliant idea of course as his employer would be reimbursing him for his airfare.
The evening ended at my doorstep with a hug, and kiss on the cheek. Fair enough, as we weren’t in Italy, and I wasn’t expecting to get my ass groped, or tongue-raped in a crappy blue Fiat. The next day we embarked on our trek to the museum, and thereafter bore witness to this particular locale as being a haven for socially acceptable public spitting, and individuals that prefer to blow their noses without tissues and via the ‘one-nostril projectile method.’ I later suggested we head back to my temporary digs so that I could make him a nice dinner.
Upon our arrival Beercan cornered me and read me the riot act. As Sir English was only a few metres away and could hear everything, Beercan proceeded to tell me I was not allowed to have guests, monopolize the kitchen, and other certain ‘house rules’ he seemed to remove from his arse as he went along. These rules, of course having no basis as he was only a ‘tenant’ and the house was rented in Lou’s name (not only my best gf but a family member who also oversees the property and what goes on in the house), who had already informed everyone of my stay, and gave me permission to use the house as if I lived there.
Despite I thought to myself “Who the fuck do you think you are?” – I opted not to stand my ground, or contradict my brainwashed step-sister Lilla who happened to join him half way through the conversation – mostly due to the futility of the whole thing and not upsetting her as she is planning to marry this, half-wit ass-hat this September. Did I mention he is 40 and is a career shoeshine guy 3 times a week? Yeah, there’s an underacheiver chicks are lining up to date.
Follwing Lilla and Beercan’s departure I stood mortified in the kitchen while I nervously tried to finish up preparing dinner so we could get the hell out of there as soon as possible.
SE: I’m so sorry. I can’t believe he said all those things to you, and with me only beings a few metres away. Are you ok?
CM: Yeah I’m fine. Thanks. He’s a jerk. It’s just an alpha-male control thing. Let’s just have dinner, and we can go out. That was the plan anyways. How ’bout some more prosecco?
Despite having the rug pulled out from under me, I managed to hide my humiliation, not sob in my tomato sauce, and make a nice dinner… Pasta for 2.
We ended up in an English-themed pub nearby.
If anything could have lightened my mood it was undoubtedly the bar’s name,
‘The Dogs Bullocks.’
As we seemed to forget the events of earlier in the evening, while ingesting several ‘Mules.’ I kept wondering if he actually ‘liked’ me, and I don’t mean in a ‘Toronto Welcome Wagon’ or plutonic ‘Facebook’ kinda way. There were no gratuitous touches to my arm or back, no pokes, winks, nudges… nothing.
Here we are, laughing and getting a little inebriated… it’s the perfect excuse! I am being all charming and smiley, and even wearing my nerdy-girl glasses. Why isn’t he doing anything? What the hell does he think is wrong with me?!?!?
We left the bar to have our last couple of drinks at an establishment slightly closer to my digs.
I even did like a flirty nudge thing! He’s still not doing anything! Maybe he’ll make a move when he walks me back to the house.
While he walked me home, we agreed that in the morning we would check out a photography exhibit, and that I would invite my good friend Wayne to join us. As we stood on the sidewalk…
SE: That was really fun.
CM: Yeah totally. Woody would have been proud.
SE: Well, Goodnight then. See you tomorrow.
Oh, that was awkward…
Wait, that’s it? A hug and a kiss on the cheek?
Was I too trivial? Did I smell?
Was he disappointed because I just didn’t measure up to his expectations?
(to be continued…)