It was an immensely hot, languid May for Moscow. My birthday was coming up, I had no wish to work in this heat, but I planned to take a vacation no sooner than in August. It was necessary to do something so as not to wither in imminent procrastination.
It was my flatmate who became my stimulus to progress. This amazing girl, who had magnificent forms, was enviably successful with men.
Once, a deafening roar in our spacious yard caused me to wake up. It was produced by the car of a guy who was going to take her out. Damn, I’m not versed in car brands, but it cost 500.000$ then — Google said so while she fluttered around the flat, putting on mascara. Eventually she refused to have a relationship with that guy as he wasn’t right for her. This girl was really amazing. I know it for certain: when 2 girls live together, they know the darkest parts of each other. Just believe me.
Despite her popularity, appearance and brain, she was not averse to using dating sites. One evening, she once again started reproaching me:
“How long can you sit in front of your laptop?! Where’s your boyfriend?!”
“Indeed, where?” thought I and at the same time found the solution of my problem with procrastination.
A spoiler: it was a good decision with the shitty end. It did kill my procrastination.
The site was chosen, the registration passed successfully… So… To write about myself… I was not a writer (yet), so I put a couple of phrases and my photo. Enough. “I’m 21; so far, such a brief description will definitely do,” thought I and set about searching.
You may not believe me, but while I received message after message, I looked through 500+ accounts of guys from the search. It took the whole evening, but it was worth it. A nice tall guy, very pleasant when talked to, frank, interesting. The only one whose first message was NOT standard, by which it was possible to understand a lot.
A spoiler: but not his sense of humor.
We arranged an appointment. It was a weekday, and after work I managed to find strength to do my hair and fix my makeup. He said we would meet at the subway. “Great! I can put on my flapping lemon trench coat,” thought I.
We met. I worried a good deal, so I can’t remember the first minutes of the date. After a few minutes I found out we were going to the “Winter Garden”, that was the name of that place, if I’m not mistaken. And it just smote me under the fifth rib: I adored flowers and plants, and we were going to visit a place having the rarest plants from all over the world, and this was their all-the-year-around habitat. I felt like we were going to Narnia.
The guy had a pleasant velvety voice, and the walk around the vast expanse of green wildlife when listening to his stories delighted both my heart and ears. Only seldom did I insert a few phrases to look into his fiery eyes, admiring them.
“Why, he’s perfect!” squeaked my inner voice. “A little soft, but it seems to be his only flaw” he himself admitted it.
Then we went to a café. We got a comfy detached table next to TV, to which I sometimes turned my gaze so as not to look at my companion all of the time.
He ordered what he liked, and I what I liked. That was a good sign of the first date: we were both quite comfortable.
The next 1.5 hours flew by fast. I was sitting near him on the sofa, softly leaning on his shoulder. Yes, we decided to sit next to each other, not opposite.
Everything was romantic, natural, and very pleasant. He paid the bill, though it was the first time I wanted to pay it myself in full. It was a worthy date.
Then we decided to take the tube and go to our homes. Ahead was a long escalator, he stood on the step lower, I stood on the higher. For 4 whole minutes we stood looking into each other’s eyes, he joked. I realized: if it went longer, I would drag you to my home. My voice of good breeding shut up and gave no sign of life.
One of the metro lines separated us.
Only at the door of my flat did I feel I was tired. The lemon trench coat was thrown off, comfy socks were put on, an apple fresh was prepared. I was chipper again and ready to devote 15 minutes to my phone before going to bed. There was a message:
“You’re not like in the photo.”
You think that’s all? No. My brain froze. I know I’m pretty. What the hell did that phrase mean? I was hurt.
The guy seemed to get the ambiguity of the phrase and tried to make amends, sending another message:
“You’ve got so wonderful facial expressions! You’re just like… Bruce Willis. They say he trained a lot to have such facial expressions.”
Man, if you happen to read this story, keep in mind: don’t create fake romanticism on a date if you don’t have it in everyday life. And don’t hide your peculiar sense of humor on the very date. Just don’t hide yourself real, natural.
A spoiler: if you think that’s it — no. One day he called me, having got completely drunk. But that’s another story.
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