Off to the next catch

I was over Eileen in a matter of days. My heart was heavy, but what to do? She was not just my liking. And it just did not happen like that. A friend of a friend hooked me up on a blind date. Everything happened in a flash and I was set to meet my match a day after I was given her telephone number. I readied myself.

I am not the kind of a guy to swig a few pints of wine to gain courage, but a blind date is not the easy stuff for anyone, including me. You get it wrong with the first word and you are doomed. The danger still, was to take things seriously and make no impact. For women, I am told, like happens in some reptiles, the first three minutes count a lot.

It was a dinner date. I fretted about how to break the ice. Words deserted me. You could have heard a pin drop.

“Nice to meet you,” I said.

“Me too,” she exclaimed. Now to a man, that sort of sounded the bell for an advance. But I was keeping my cards to my chest. Just not yet, I told myself.

We made our orders. She took grilled chicken breast and mashed potatoes. I took chilly red snapper and roasted potatoes.

Five minutes later, the meal was on the table and we  chomped on our food as we talked.                           

As the night progressed, the tension wore off. Maureen was vivacious, chatty, engaging and sounded educated. She liked movies, listened to rock music and occasionally took wine. She cracked jokes and I could notice her easy acquiescence to my jokes too. I bamboozled her with my apparent knowledge of current affairs and she looked deeply rivetted.

Often, the women have played hard-to-get. Maureen was not the sort.

“So what made you ask for a blind date?” she asked, getting me off-guard.

“Mmmh …,” I started clearing my throat. 

“For adventure and I guess too, luck.” I said, looking at her straight in the eye.

“After playing according to the rule-book, I decided to go blind because you never know, I always tell myself … the woman crossing the road behind you could be your perfect match,” I said, sounding educated and intelligent.

Maureen was a 28-year-old lawyer at a city law firm. She looked the potential woman for me. The candle flickered and I kept gawping at her stunning beauty and effortless poise.  My head was already in a whirl and I thought looks, sometimes, could deceive.

 After all, I was beginning the tough, hard task of separating the wheat from the chaff. I even ignored Eileen’s text though I was eager to know what she wanted or may be she was in the restaurant.