Friday, June 22, 2007

a bend in the rule

So I never write about my dating life. It’s just too…it’s just not a good idea. If I ever get married, I’ll let you know, but I’m not writing about the ins and outs of my male entanglements. Be that as it may, I have to write about the date I went on last night. I’ll say right off the bat that this is not one of those really bad date stories where you feel sorry for me. This was a really, really good date.

I shall call my date Reggie. This is not his real name.

Reggie came to pick me up at my place at 6:00, only I hadn’t come home from work yet. He waited for me and got to know my roommates and my sister, all of whom cried out in unison when I came home from the date, “Reggie is soooo hot!” Reggie is quite handsome, but that’s not his real name.

We drove to Winthrop, a small Boston harbor town, very close to Deer Island (for those familiar) for an Italian seafood dinner. Reggie told me, “It looks like a dive, which makes the experience all the more unbelievable. This food will blow your mind.” He wasn’t kidding. Reggie had the lobster ravioli and I chose the shrimp artichoke ravioli. I never wanted it to end. And the bread…the bread. Mother’s love, the bread.

After dinner, we walked for a while, wherein I learned more about Reggie’s PhD pursuits at a very prestigious technical college located in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Reggie is a genius. Reggie is breaking new ground and getting his professors tenure because of his discoveries. Reggie gets extra animated when he explains how all the stuff he’s uncovering all testifies of Jesus Christ and Creation, and the divine structure of the universe. It’s really fun to see him talk about it. Did I mention his name is not really Reggie?

The clouds above us turned an ominous gray, but that doesn’t stop Reggie from continuing with his plan to take me out to Deer Island for an amazing view of the Boston skyline. Once again, he wasn’t kidding, particularly last night’s view. A storm had unleashed itself on Boston, but it hadn’t reached the island yet. It’s sunset. To the left is the city and the harbor, to the right is the Atlantic and pretty lighthouses. Above the ocean, pinks and oranges and blues. Above Boston, deep purples, dark grays, and lightning strikes. Gorgeous bolts so big they look like the sky is cracking open. And here we are, watching this on top of a hill, bone dry, and scream-laughing with every strike.

On the walk back down the hill it comes out that I’ve never been to Top of the Hub. I thought Reggie was going to choke on his own tonsil. He didn’t. He quickly recovered and announced matter-of-factly: “We’re going. We’re getting dessert there. Let’s go.”

Reggie is a fictitious name.

For non-Bostonians, Top of the Hub is a swankster restaurant which sits on the top of a big business building called the Prudential Center. Its walls are floor-to-ceiling windows, it boasts a panaromic view of Boston.

By the time we get to the car, it had just begun to sprinkle. Five minutes into the drive, it was pouring. Perfect timing, we thought. By the time we reached the restaurant, the rain reduced itself to a drizzle. More perfect timing, we thought. The storm had blown out, leaving a clear night sky. We took the elevator to the fifty-second floor.

We were greeted by the snobby hostess with the phenomenal body and the English accent. Reggie asks for a table. Hostess chick slips us an FYI: $24 per person minimum after 8:00 p.m. I’m ready to leave right then. “Thanks anyway.” I say. Reggie replies, “We’ve just come for dessert. Is it possible to just get dessert?” Hostess chick says, “Of course, so long as you order $24 per person’s worth of dessert.” Cute. “Thanks anyway,” I say again, and look at Reggie with the “let’s just go” eyes. But Reggie’s not finished. He points to me and says to Hostess chick, “she’s never been here, and tonight is so beautiful. What if we just walked around for minute? I want to show her.” No. “Well,” Reggie tries, “what about if we sat at the bar?” There’s only a seat for one. By this point, I’m totally ready to give up. I’m pleading with Reggie, “It doesn’t have to be tonight, Reggie. It’s okay.” Reggie turns to me in total seriousness and kindly says, “No, Mary. It has to be tonight.” I didn’t really call him Reggie, since that’s not his real name. But Reggie’s the name I’m using for this story. So that’s why I wrote Reggie.

Reggie’s looks and charm finally wore Hostess chick down. At last she laughed and gave me this warning, “Watch out for this one, friend. He doesn’t take no for an answer!” She then directed us to a spot where we could order a couple of drinks and stand in front of a spectacular view of northeast Boston. I couldn’t believe it. She completely caved. She gave us an amazing spot. I’ve learned a valuable life lesson here. Persistence pays off, and Reggie is a charmer. Even if his name is Reggie. Which it’s not.

I wish I could paint with words the expression on the bartender’s face when Reggie proudly ordered: “Two Shirley Temples, please!”

We walked all over the restaurant, toting our Temples, and looking out the windows. Unbelievable. I just smiled and smiled.

The drive home we just raved about how perfect everything was. The food, the scenery, the walk, the storm, the rain, the Hub, the Shirley Temples, the bartender…it was perfect!

You know what, I changed my mind. I think I want to call him Vlad.


Marry him.
If you don't want him, point Reggie/Vlad in my direction.
Aaaaah! Do I know this "Reggie"?

Because now I want to know him. And I may or may not mean that in the Biblical sense.
WOW. I just--seriously. WOW.

And girl, you were due. I am so glad you had a wonderful time.
Sheesh, I get behind on reading my blogs and I miss exciting stuff like this. I hope you and Reggie have gone out again.
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