That night Sam stayed over while I had a vicious, rabid, utterly cruel bout of food poisoning. I slept less than a hour and could not go into work. We still hadn’t slept together and I was almost certain that we never would after that. And I wouldn’t judge him if he didn’t exactly feel attracted to a girl he’d been on 2 dates with and who was currently experiencing her dinner and wines shooting out of all orifices. Or moaning while she lay her stomach on a hot water bottle.
In the morning, he was kind enough to offer to go out and buy me the painkillers that I had so unfortunately run out of. I said it was fine. “Can I at least refill your hot water bottle?”
“You would do that?”He would and he did.
Wednesday, it was as though that powers that be wanted Sam and me to spend another day together because down came the Typhoon in all its T-8-rated glory. Holi-holi-day. Sam glibly messaged “where can we have breakfast?”. Classified, that’s where. We walked there holding hands and we left there holding hands. I wore a taupe and neon summer wrap dress that I had to keep pinning down to avoid indecent exposure. And then a car zipped by a bit too close to the pavement completely dousing me in rainwater. Even my face wasn’t spared. I laughed a lot. It was like being the happy star of my own movie.
We had a glass of wine at Sam’s and then retreated to my place to watch Django Unchained. D’Caprio offered whitecake (pronounced huwhayeet cake) to Waltz and Foxx in the film. Later Sam asked me to have tea and cake with him. I am definitely dating an Englishman. And so off we went into the mildly stormy midlevels for a casual meal of tea and cake at Portobello.We ran into people we’d just met on the junk and ended up sharing the table with them. That was nice.
As I was leaving Sam to head to Shimpy’s apartment to pick up my DVF dress loot (score!), he asked if I’d have dinner and drinks with him. I classically self-sabotaged myself by snapping “Gawd, aren’t you sick of me already?”
He was not amused by my comment but I back-pedaled and said I was kidding and that I’d love to have dinner with him. We had pizzas for dinner at Motorino that night, another pretentious little shithole that’s popped up on the HK dining scene. I use the word pizzas loosely because these badly made bread-creations definitively sucked ass and gave pizzas a bad name.
“So are we on date 3 now?” he asked. It felt slightly transactional, like it was expected that we would have sex that night. The unspoken rules of dating baffle me at times. Sleep with them too soon and you never hear from them, string them along for too long and they get bored and move on. And then of course there’s door # 3 – just plain bad sex (in which case, I make a run for it). This is Hong Kong, sex is easy to come by (too easy). I have made the 3-date-wait my holy grail but that doesn’t mean that I don’t worry about men disappearing after the deed is done. Maybe “worry” is a bit of a stretch. In all fairness, I do it too (the disappearing that is). When Sam said “I guess the only question is your place or mine…”, I was slightly miffed at the presumption but I didn’t show it. In turn, he backpedaled and said we could always go to our own respective apartments but considering how many nights we’ve already spent together, this was not really a consideration.
Nota Bena: He has since very definitively and unequivocally proved to me that he is in this for much more than sex. What’s next on the list on incredulous sudden developments? peace in the middle east?
On Friday, I had a haircut to tame my unruly tresses and then headed to the Hong Kong Food Expo in Wan Chai. The expo while being a sea of human beings was in fact quite fun. I scored some black garlic which I can’t wait to incorporate into my cooking. The wines I sampled were total swill – bullshit plonk from bull shit regions (Italy, in my snobbish opinion, seems to have disproportionately large offering of disgusting wines).
On Saturday, I spent a good chunk of my day with one of my favourite couples Young Master and his missus. I played their little helper while they brewed their own whitbeer. And then I feasted on home made choley-bhaturey. Yes, I have awesome friends. I then headed to the HK Science Museum for a special exhibition on award-winning nature and wildlife photographs. It was magnificent and heartbreaking. I cried buckets and left only when I couldn’t take it any more. Times like this, I wish I could take a year off and travel around the world, maybe attaching myself to a photographer or heck even learning wildlife photography and seeing things others haven’t seen. Sigh.
Things only got more sublime in the evening when I joined some of my friends for birthday dinner and drinks (not my birthday!) at Sahara – the middle eastern joint on peel street. Afterwards we were treated to special brownies that one of the guys had lovingly baked. Apparently it takes two hours for a brownie to take effect. Completely ignoring this factoid, I ate 1/2 a brownie, then another 1/2, then a whole one, and then yet another whole one. I think the first one hit by the time I had eaten the third one and the third one was still hitting me sideways early next morning.
At age 31, I am delighted to say, I finally got properly stoned. My friends dropped me home, to the foot of my building and I made it to my flat. I was dizzy, unsteady and my limbs felt like sludge. Radioactive sludge. My lungs felt like they were filled helium and my heart sank in my stomach like it was made of lead. My eyes felt like sand and I kept checking if I had taken my lenses off (I had, but it still felt like I hadn’t). I slept over the covers because my body felt boiling hot. Then I rummaged and dug my way inside the covers cause I felt cold. And then hot again, and then cold again.
At 10 am I was still flying high like a snow petrel so I forced myself to go back to bed. At 2 pm, I ate yogurt and rice and drank heaps of water and I felt human again. At around 3, Sam showed up like a knight in shining armour with green tea, which according to him, cures all ills. It certainly helped (though a part of me was averse to anything “green” at that point). We headed out wakeboarding and (I’d like to think that) I fucking killed it on the waters despite my fragile state. On one occassion, I ollied a clear 2 feet off the surface of the water on both legs. Sam was suitably impressed; it took several attempts to get up on the board but he seemed to enjoy it and said he’d be willing to come back. We then went to Pizza-Q, a lovely pizzeria on stanley beach with a view of the ocean below; we had the place all to ourselves and gorged on thin-crust pizzas and sauvignon blanc. I am going to get so fat if I keep dating this man. Back at Casa Jupiter, we watched the comedy of Aziz Ansari and then went to sleep.
It was the perfect end to a perfect birthday week (barring the unfortunate bout of food poisoning of course).