Banking on a success
Zany Delaney’s dates from hell
After shaking hands and having a small chat, we made our way into one of my favorite cozy restaurants in Amman. He was a 28-year old banker who had just come straight from work. The suit looked great on him and as we sat down he took off his jacket: there couldn’t be a better view than the way that shirt hung off his shoulders. He had all the things that stirred my weaknesses in a man: height, a husky voice, a great build and a knack for humor. Laughs were exchanged and food was swiftly consumed while he talked endlessly about himself. And his ex.
He asked me what I did in life, and while I was talking interrupted me to point out that his Ex also loved to write and was from my home town. We apparently also shared a love for Paulo Coelho’s books and spoken-word poetry. “You are a lot like my ex, he really loved Amy Winehouse as well,” the smitten chap continued. His face lit up with a smile as I sparked up a cigarette, sat back and listened to him expand upon our shared qualities.
“This date is going well” he assured me. I was ready, then, to accept that the date had driven itself to a dead end, pay, and carry my now full tummy home. I told my white lie, he bought it. As we waited for the bill, my figurative feet were ready for the who-pays-the-check dance, and as the bill dropped on our table so did his amazing accounting skills.
After staring at the check for almost three minutes he started to divide the bill. I’m not talking splitting the check: I mean splitting everything.
“You ate two spring rolls, and half the chicken cashew, you also had some of my fried rice…” he went on. As my outgoings were being assessed my jaw joined the drop-on-the-table action. I stopped him, took my wallet with a fierce grip, and paid the entire bill. “This one is on me,” I said, “it was lovely getting to know you, and your ex. Let’s not do this again”!
His jacket was on at this point, the shirt that hung off his back gone as well as his charm.
My knees no longer weak I left and rushed my keys out of my bag, then sat in my car with the recurring thought that another one most definitely bit the dust. But not until he’d made sure that the dust wouldn’t cost much.