Column # 227: No Date: Better Story

But.
Should woman live
on
stories alone?

Living the Life of Holly
by Holly Winter
© 2007
No Date; Better Story

“You’re working too hard for your dinner.” Stranger chided as he reached past me, picked up the last steak I’d discarded, and tossed it into his grocery cart.

“Maybe I am….”

The first thing that got my attention was that he used ‘you’re and ‘your’ in one sentence, a skill I’m not entirely successful in teaching to my ten-year-old students. The second thing was that he looked like a surfer, yet dressed like a golfer: everything pressed and tucked in with a small design punctuating his pocket. He seemed like a laid-back kind of man who would normally walk around wrinkled. Who ironed his clothes? And why did I care? Was it the way he dressed or the way he slung steak that started me wondering?

He went for another steak. “I’m half starved. Just signed a major client.” The meat made a dull thump as he tossed it into his cart.

“Congratulations.” Though I worked to find flawless meat, Stranger chose carelessly, as if being paid to quickly move slabs of beef from counter to cart. I was pretty sure that whatever his job was, he wasn’t a meat taster.

“Big days call for a lot of food.” He nodded as he blindly chose another steak and threw it into his cart.

“You’re not checking for worms?”

“Nah.” he shrugged.

I crossed my arms. “And you don’t mind paying for that big layer of fat?”

He shrugged and offered to toss the next steak into my cart. When I declined the favor he shrugged again, tossing the meat into his cart with a gentle thud.

He was young and cute and flirting with me.

I smiled and returned my attention to the counter. When I found the perfect steak he gently pulled it from my hands.

“Why don’t you let me buy your dinner?”

Zoom. I was wearing workout pants and a fleece. Point for him. Being attracted to me, looking like this.

He smiled. “What’s your favorite restaurant?”

Zoom. Was he old enough to ask me out?

Zoom. I was renaming this grocery store: Meet Market. More than half of my shopping trips here ended with an invitation.

He folded his arms. “Hey. Don’t worry. I’ll pay.”

Zoom. Oh. He must be even younger than I’d thought. Was he old enough to drink alcohol? I know. I know. The big thing now is older women with younger men. But. I’m not the type to hang with men who look like they’d rather be holding a skateboard than my hand.

“and your wine.” He continued.

Zoom. Oh. This man was not good at reading women.

Zoom. Is that what he was hoping for? Lessons? Tips?

I set my basket of groceries on the floor. “What’d you have in mind?”

Zoom. Does he look like he has any interesting stories to tell? I’m a sucker for interesting stories. Or. Am I going to be the first interesting story of his life? You know. The girl he met, quite literally, over steak.

“How’bout the sushi bar?”

I nodded, considering. Would I rather hang with my cute neighbor, who’d watch me cook while he practiced his flamenco guitar, then eat half my dinner while drilling me for dating advice, since we weren’t a match?

“Which one?” I lied. I knew full well.

Zoom. Would I rather read my library books? Call my mother? Make brownies for my students? See if Traysa wanted to buy new shoes; I was due.

“You know. The one down the next street.”

Zoom. Was he trying to grow questions so I’d eat with him?

Zoom. What kind of client did he sign? What kind of work did he do? Could he really eat that much steak? How old was he? Did he always talk to women in the grocery store, or just this store, or just today?

Zoom. I was a little interested. A little. He initiated conversation. Was cute. But. Something told me we’d sit down to dinner and he’d start complaining that his mother made him pick up his socks before he could ride his bike.

“We could head over there right now. I’ll meet you there in ten minutes?”

Zoom. What? No time for me to change? His hunger is more important than what I’m wearing?

“It’s tempting.” I smiled. “But, I’m going to pass. Tonight’s not good for me.”

“Too bad.” he nodded, throwing my perfect steak into his cart with another thud. He returned his quick choices to the counter, then leaned in to me: “We could of talked money.”

Zoom. Money? Money? Money? As in financial planning?

“You look like the kind of woman who knows a lot about money.”

Zoom. He needs help:
#1. Talking to women.
#2. Asking women out.
#3. Choosing steak.
#4. Reading women’s minds.

As I watched him walk away, I crossed number three off the list. He doesn’t need help selecting steaks. By God, the man stole mine. He turned back, “We don’t have to talk politics.”

Zoom. There might be a story in having dinner with him, the kind of dinner that turns coal into diamonds. I bet I could get a whole beautiful diamond necklace of stories out of one hour with him. Big jewels! From a simple evening…

But. I let him leave, with thoughts of his un-mined stories dancing in my head. Because. I no longer date for curiosity. These days I date for charm.

Later my cute neighbor asked why I settled for a second rate steak, when I might have had an interesting evening filled with stories and great food at my favorite restaurant.

Um. Yeah. Well. It’s tough to explain. But, sometimes the best story is a short story.

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Holly answers all e-mails. E-mail her:
holly@livingthelifeofholly.com

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