My streak ended. It’s a bittersweet moment when you break a streak regardless of the dubious achievement of having attained it. My “Queen of One Date” title has been revoked by virtue of the fact that I went on a second date. Curses! I had become royalty in my own mind, although I didn’t have the appropriate clothes or jewelry. I think an Ermine collar on a red robe was necessary. Not having been asked on a second date in six months, my knee jerk reaction when suddenly and surprisingly invited was an immediate “yes.” I should have deliberated far more carefully – weighed the options. Date? Queen status? It’s not every girl that gets to be Royal even if it’s for being a dating loser.
My “streak” ending date invited me over for turkey chili. Yes, read this and weep. I surrendered the crown for a lousy bowl of beans. I was also nervous about going over to a veritable stranger’s house for a second date. I received endless warnings and advice: “don’t go”, “meet in a public place” and “bring mace, a gun, brass knuckles, or sharp stick.” I was worried and weaponless but went. I arrived hungry and after the obligatory house tour I looked around for pre-dinner appetizers. Sweaty and a bit hypoglycemic I was desperate for a cracker. He handed me a glass of wine but zippo in the form of food. He wanted to talk about art, I wanted a vitamin B12 shot to stay conscious. Sadly and boringly I gave him the art history lecture I’ve heard myself say a million times being an art dealer for 24 years. I might have dozed off after Impressionism. I know I lost him during Andy Warhol.
And speaking of Campbell soup cans I needed soup or anything as I was about to keel over. Finally I declared I wanted dinner. He took out two bowls and filled them with chili from a tiny pot on the stove- teenie tiny pot. Mr. Streak Breaker then put the pot in the sink, as it was empty! Next he placed between us the smallest loaf of bread I’ve ever seen. I think I served bigger loaves when I played tea party with my dolls. I scarfed down the beans and two pieces of bread. There was nothing more, dinner over. Dessert was only something about which I could dream or stop and buy on my way home.
My title relinquished for a bowl of chili. I’ve asked my gonepausal girls on Facebook for an annulment of date two but the majority ruled it counted. I learned the hard way there is nothing like being a “Royal” regardless of how you get the crown.