Monday night in NYC, Katr and I did the tasting menu at the Restaurant Daniel. Katr warned me ahead of time that this was a classy place and that we would need to be on our best behaviour. We had wardrobe consultations. Katr kindly loaned me her black silk clutch bag in place of my cartoon duck purse. I wore matching socks and lipstick. It was this whole big thing. My stomach was all a-flutter, and not just because I’d been hit on (more on that later) and then had that “chai latté” at Chock Full o’ Nuts.
I met Katr in the lounge at Daniel and we spoke in hushed tones as the suave, French maître d’ led us to the table. Our table was perfectly situated for people-watching; the chairs plush and comfortable. The waiters were solicitous but not condescending. I began to relax slightly. I leaned over and tucked my purse in next to my feet, just under the table. A minute later, I felt a flurry by my leg; I looked down and saw that one of the lithe french waiters had placed my purse upon a velvet pedestal, about knee height. And that, my friends, was the moment I knew I couldn’t say “ass hamster” in the restaurant.
Dinner was very good and extremely rich; we did the 9 course tasting menu and I believe at least 7 of those courses involved a pound of butter. Katr, comme toujours, took notes, whereas I simply savoured the food, began to unintentionally speak in a French accent and crooned sweet nothings to my purse pedestal between courses. All in all, it was quite delightful and romantic. Although later . . . the butter nearly killed us. But we won’t speak of it.
What I will speak of, however, is how I got hit on by a guy from South America while I strolled up 5th Avenue with an enormous bag of newly purchased ginch. As some of my long time readers may recall from a post in May (Creampuff Pick Up), I’m getting a little better at figuring out when someone is hitting on me. This time, the signs were obvious. The appreciative smile and nod. The warm “you look like a Four Seasons buffet” greeting. The heavy accent. The word “beautiful” was used to get my attention and also “elegant” (a new one - no one has ever called me elegant before, particularly when I’m wearing sneakers and the duck purse). Then came the questions: was I new in town? Was I just visiting? I saw him check out my ring finger before asking if I was in town with . . . my boyfriend?
Generally I don’t tell random guys who hit on me on the street that I’m a big lez, mainly due to personal safety issues. But I was on a busy street and this guy - looked a little like a young Dustin Hoffman and was wearing a pale yellow fleece. So I say to him that I am in town with my girlfriend. “Ah,” he says, “friend.” I sense he doesn’t really get it. Through a series of hilarious hand gestures, we establish that my “friend” is, in fact, more than a friend.
Usually, this is the point where the guy asks if I’ve ever been with a man (and if I have, then obviously not the right one). Dustin, however, simply looks crestfallen and says “Well, it’s nice to be in love. Congratulations!” I thank him. We walk along for a moment and then he says “I, euh, am curious . . . you . . . have husband?” I am confused - I thought we’d worked this all out. “No, ” I say, “two women.” He says “No, no, I understand two women but . . . who is the man?”
Ohhh. Well . . . that’s a good question. Who IS the man in our relationship? What does “being the man” mean? Does one of us have to be “the man"? Dustin opened up a whole can of worms with his query. I was about to dig in . . . but then I remembered that I was saving myself for dinner. Instead, I tried to decide which answer would get rid of him faster.
“I am,” I said.
“Ah,” he said.
Dustin was fleet of foot. I congratulated myself on a job well done. And then I went back to the hotel to try on my ginch.
Comments:
I would like to request an artist’s rendering of the purse pedistal, please and thank you. I am also aghast that there has been no mention made of the wonderful mass of Starting Over episodes that your DVR has recorded for you. PS: You still have to watch the shows, lady. The DVR ain’t gonna recap them for you, you know.
Comment by Melissa — Saturday, October 22, 2005 @ 9:37 pm
I’m surprised he didn’t just say, “Mmm, baby. Like that back. Gimme some.”
We like to get the point in the City. At least it worked for me.
Comment by newyorkex — Monday, October 24, 2005 @ 12:24 am
Melissa - I’ll get right on that purse pedestal thing. Maybe you can enhance it and send the finished piece to the Starting Over house! And you’re right - the DVR won’t recap the shows for me and their crappy website won’t either. Guess I’d better get watchin’.
NYEx - I too was surprised that Dustin didn’t use that classy line. Even though English was not this fellow’s first language, you’d think he’d have picked THAT up at least. Now I’m looking forward to a post on your blog outlining how that approach worked for YOU.
Comment by Rose — Monday, October 24, 2005 @ 11:29 am
I think I might have gotten a little more offended and replied…"two women…hello?..that is the point, we don’t need nor do we want a man.” But then again strange men talking to me in a big city seem to put me on the defense but it does sound like you nadled yourself quite nicely.
Comment by jen — Monday, October 24, 2005 @ 1:14 pm
you go girl! what a night. you’ve actually managed to make me miss the city!
Comment by janine — Monday, October 24, 2005 @ 3:45 pm
Hi, this has nothing to do with your post of comments, but DUDE. Apparently, crazy-fraudster Towanda is pregnant!
http://startingover.betaparticle.com/blog/template_archives_cat.asp?cat=11
Comment by Melissa — Monday, October 24, 2005 @ 5:44 pm
Thanks, Jen! I suppose that if I was more dedicated to tackling the language barrier, I might have gotten all riled up. But you know, I did have to hurry back to the hotel to try on the new ginch. All about priorities, I tell you.
Janine - miss the city? Pshaw. Where you’re at sounds fabulous (especially the snow!)
Melissa - where do you FIND these things? I’m headed there RIGHT NOW.
Comment by Rose — Tuesday, October 25, 2005 @ 8:53 pm
Lady, I am trained as a librarian, you know. So I use my crazy powers of finding information for my own evil purposes of entertainment. You will note excessive recaps there as well, and RRS feeds to let you know when one has been posted. Hot. And also, DAMN.
PS: My DVR’s second reciever was activated this morning by my cable company. Record two shows at the same time! Set series recordings of only new episodes. I have decided to marry the damn thing.
Comment by Melissa — Tuesday, October 25, 2005 @ 9:56 pm