Cranberry Angora

I got really excited when it seemed like she actually wanted to hear about motorcycle racing. I don’t think she really cared, but it occurred to me she enjoyed seeing how worked up I got. Regardless, it was with great enthusiasm I demonstrated how I was holding the handlebars as I went into a turn and swept across the table right into her cranberry vodka and managed to launch it cleanly to the next table. Well, not to the table exactly, but square into the chest of the woman seated at the table. The woman wearing a snow white angora sweater.

I turned the color of a ripe tomato in the split second it took for the woman to scream and jump up. I was so embarrassed I think I almost started crying. “Oh my God, I am so sorry. Oh my God.” Jennie, my date, was stifling a laugh. Angora sweater woman was definitely not laughing. Mercifully, a waiter came running over with a pile of napkins and started mopping the table as he made apologetic noises. I stood there stupidly, as there was nothing I could do. “I am so sorry. Can I …” But I couldn’t finish the sentence, because there was nothing I could do.

“Forget it. Just stop.” Angora woman was not feeling conciliatory. She grabbed her purse and stomped off in the direction of the ladies’.

When she was safely out of earshot, Jennie burst out with a full-throated laugh. “That was brilliant,” she said, and not kindly. The date had been going well enough I suppose up to that point, but I could tell I had condemned myself to being thought an idiot, and not unjustifiably either.

“Not my best moment. I can be a bit clumsy at times,” was all I could muster in response. Thankfully, we had already finished our entrees, so I signaled for the check and ended the evening as quickly as possible. Bitter disappointment was my companion as I walked home. Jennie had been the most promising woman I had been out with in forever, although she had been hard to read through the early part of the evening. It was clear as we parted there wouldn’t be a second date.

Following the Jennie dinner debacle, as I had come to think of it in my head, I had decided it was time for a break from dating. Two months later I was sitting in the window of my favorite neighborhood place finishing my dinner when the waitress came over with a cranberry juice and a check. I hadn’t asked for either the check or the juice so I looked up at her confused. “I didn’t order this.”

“No, the ladies at the table over there ordered it for you and said you would pay their check.” She indicated with a nod towards a table across the dining room. It was close to closing time and the room was almost empty, so I had no trouble seeing. It was angora woman and a companion. She looked straight at me with a defiant look, as if to say, “You wouldn’t dare refuse.” The waitress, who recognized me as almost a regular, looked like she didn’t know what to expect. “So, um, is that OK?”

“Yeah, I suppose it is. How much is it?” I gasped as I saw that they had dined well and had drunk a nice bottle of wine. “It’s fine, I’ll take care of it. Might as well bring me my check and I’ll settle everything.”

After paying, I sat sipping my cranberry juice and fuming a little. It had been an accident after all. I suppose I owed her for the sweater, which I’m sure was absurdly expensive, and making me buy her dinner was clever, but the brashness with which she had handled it got under my skin a little. I decided I need to get something for my money.

“Hi. Is this seat taken?”

Angora woman looked up at me and then turned to her friend. “Watch out Clarissa, you might want to move back from the table. There’s no telling who will get hit with a drink next.”

“Ha. Ha. I suppose I deserve that. But if I’m going to buy you dinner, you could at least spend 10 minutes with me and introduce yourself and your friend.”

“Oh, so I guess you didn’t get a second date then?” She was mocking me, and not nicely. “I suppose you can sit for a few minutes, but please try not to douse anyone.”

The woman who appeared to be Clarissa said, “Oh come on, be nice to the poor boy. The way you described it, it did sound like an accident.”

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