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Friday, July 31, 2009

"MONTY" - CASE FILE 1.09.2 -The BIG Date

What is that?
- You know...
No, I have no idea what it is, what is it?
- It's for tomorrow...
What's for tomorrow? (In utter confusion). Why did you need a needle for tomorrow?
- This is xyz@doc... it's like Viagra ...
(Wholly shit!) WHAT??? Why do you need it for tomorrow?
- (sheepishly, but satisfied with himself) Our meeting tomorrow...
YOU THINK WE ARE GOING TO BED TOMORROW? There is NO WAY; forget it! And, you even announce your plans to me???

After returning to some "normal" dialogue once again, we said our good nights in peace, me, convinced more than ever that there was NOT going to be any nookie, any time soon - the gall!
Another victim of the "Friday Night TV Porn School of Intimacy and Ultimate Seductive Performance". (Ay, Chihuahua, no wonder women are not interested in "sex")
How uncouth... I haven't even met this dude!
Did I need to know about the "performance enhancement" injection?
Nothing in our month long conversation came to any intimacy whatsoever. NONE.

Our morning conversation was anticipatory, as I imagine is expected still, and despite "all the information" - one, well at least me, would like to remain in some sort of contact/relationship with someone I had things in common with and shared time pursuing the possibility of finding a good match that would lead to a commitment. I can't fault the man for being who he is, even if he is not for me... or vise-versa.
I find this a delicate field, where we are all (hopefully honestly) all looking for a
"last" mate. Personally, I cannot see me "dating" - a bit vulgar at my age; after all, I bloody well know what I definitely do not want and, somewhat flexible with what I know I want.

The evening arrived with any undue nervousness and at the agreed time my phone rung - not the main door buzzer (?).
- I am parked across the street, come down...
!? Hmmm. Not a very good sign. Summoned with a cell phone? Biiiig breath!
I got downstairs and immediately noticed there wasn't anyone standing by the door, the path empty, leading to the parked, exquisitely sparkling golden European late model - I managed to see it and, a large silhouette behind the wheel, despite the blasts of vapor intermittently being expired through my nose.
It was a long walk "down the runway"; I felt I was being scrutinized and X-Rayed to my marrow... (Looking good... I knew! Don't care what he thinks.)
I finally reached the car. He made no attempt whatsoever to open the door - even if, from the driver side.
Although I intended to be polite, I cannot guarantee my face not giving away my true indignant feelings. The bastard!
How OLD ? How fat? ... Let me see 79-80? Big. I don't know... OLD! OH-MY-GOD- his teeth, his teeth are making the tapping noise I heard on the phone - SHIT, there are his, he paid for them! Bastard!
How long is a second? It was that fast that the above and the inability to look at him completely flooded my being with an explosive, but much contained rage. An implosion occurred. Courtesy of my mothers upbringing (had to bring her into this too, somehow).
A couple of minutes into the ride I managed to compose myself... my goodness, poor guy, how sad...
We shortly arrived at the chosen peninsula restaurant (at least he drove to the Colonies) and by now I did not have any illusions of chivalry from his part so, I let myself out, closed the car door and headed towards the restaurant/stopped in my tracks just as quickly, he is still trying to get out!?
Madre mia! No wonder he never came to the door...
He finally stood firm. (He did not fib about his height - as if it would actually matter as this point!) But, he was not moving - now, what...?
I caught my breath... he began to move forward, slowly and awkwardly. Remember Carol Burnett playing Tim Convay's secretary? Mrs. Wiggum. Mrs. Wanda Wiggum! He sort of slid/shuffled forward like her - stiff bum... I opened the restaurant door, we were seated immediately.
It takes a lot of compassion to look at someone you want to kill and still have mercy... Sad, as I said before.
I was determined for us to have a good dinner time.

He wore glasses, unlike his profile pic. His fingers were amber from the nicotine of too many cigarettes smoked...
Monty, you smoke!
- No, I don't.
Your fingers are tobacco stained - you smoke!
- Only in the kitchen...
You smoke.
- Only in the kitchen...
You smoke.
- I smoke.

Dinner arrived promptly.
- See this shirt? (motioning to the impeccable dry cleaned white shirt he was wearing)
See this tie?
- Well, in a few minutes, as I eat, they will be all stained...
- Because my hands are unsteady and, I spill the food...
Why don't you tuck into your collar the napkin you have on you lap so you will keep you shirt clean?
- Good idea...

Money came up again. Again, I mentioned how distasteful it was and, reminded him having asked him not to make it a conversation topic.
- You remind of my mother, I loved my mother (I heard again) You don't let me get away with anything.
No, I won't.

Dinner was alright, no desert for me thank you - he, among other things, was diabetic.
Excused himself and shuffled over to the washroom as if holding up his pants (was he?). The waitress must haven taken this as a cue to bring the bill and with a huge smile proudly placed it in front of me. With just as huge a smile, I informed her the gentleman will be taking care of it. She complied by placing it at his setting.

As he sad down - So, what do you think?
About what?
- (Motioned at himself)
There is a vague resemblance to the man on the picture, it is a few years old and you were not wearing glasses, right?
- (Defeated) Right.
We left the restaurant without much ceremony, as we came. The car door was unlocked with remote...

We had originally planned to have tea and some sort of dessert at my place.
I had all the intentions to honor my word, and will admit was surprised when he declined and shared needing to use the washroom again. Reassuringly, I offered the use of mine, considering the hour drive back into town... he declined.
I suspected the entire situation made him ill. Would have made me, were I in his shoes!

He stopped at the entrance. I helped myself out. We said good-bye. He drove away.

It was 6:30PM as I walked trough he door, certain I was never-ever going to call him, while I still also knew in my heart I was willing to keep my word in regards to the often stated, by both of us, "we will always remain friends, no matter what" ...

I never heard from "Monty" again.
Sadly, he might have liked a woman companion, lover...wife, but, what he really needed was a nurse-maid. Somehow, I suspect, it would have been an easier route for him to find what he was looking for... stranger things are known to have happened.
May he be and, keep well and safe, wherever he is.

© moi

Next I will "tell all" about in the "Allister" the City Council Candidate.


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