Since before I went to Spain for work in late November, I had been chatting with a free-spirited Canadian man. He seemed extremely nice on messages and asked me for a drink on his first message itself. I had politely declined as I was crazy busy at the time and proposed that we catch up after my Spain trip if we were still in each others’ memories after I returned. He was not outdone by this and stayed in touch and even pointed me towards a cute little Mexican place in Madrid where I ended up taking my brother out to dinner. We finally made plans to meet more than a week after I returned from Spain. This was because, again, I had all sorts of social engagements including the HK panto.
The day of the panto, I was dressed really nicely in preparation for my date with the hot black teacher (remember that brings-other-people-to-the-date nutter?). I had on a simple yet stunning red wool-crepe dress (all credit to Jin, it’s her dress that she donated to me) with a textured black jacket from BCBG and patent fuck-me booties from Mr. Choo. I cancelled said date as I was stuck at work doing some useless shit I can’t remember now. But the same evening, the Canadian texted to say he was in the neighbourhood if I wanted to grab a drink after the show. I liked the ad-hoc-ness of the message and the implication of eagerness on his part that it seemed to hold. So I agreed.
He met me outside the Wanch. He looked like..well, how can I put this…on the one hand, he was very badly dressed – a ratty hoody (that looked unwashed) thrown over a red teeshirt and worn-out jeans. On the other hand, he was skinny and tall, and had a nice-looking face and curly hair that I have had a weakness for ever since the first time I saw Justin Timberlake in Bye Bye Bye. Okay maybe they weren’t Timberlake-level curly but they were certainly Jups-level curly.
We walked over to Mes Amis and ordered some wine. We had loads of stuff to chat about and have similar tastes in comedy. He always made eye contact and spoke in a slow, clear drawl, which I immediately made a mental note of because I strongly believe that men who talk slow are definitively better lovers than men who don’t. You heard it here first, ladies, don’t waste your time with the mailtrain-speed-talkers. The slow ones that are in no rush to finish (their sentences) take their time where it counts.
My point is I was definitely drawn to him.
I think we talked for more than two hours over two glasses of wine. He paid for all the drinks – full credit to him for that especially since he had told me already that he was working freelance but looking for something a bit steadier.
I went home around 1 o’clock. He gave me two kisses on the cheek but he later told me he had leaned in to kiss me (like, kiss me kiss me) and that I had somehow turned my cheek to him to avoid mouth-to-mouth contact. I disagree with his assessment because this did not cross my mind and I did not think he was going to kiss me kiss me.
Stayed tuned for the second date update with the Canadian. Spoiler alert: My aforementioned strong belief was confirmed yet again. AND HOW!