Taking her to the cinema means she’s boring – he doesn’t want to hear her voice or hear her talk about mundane things; such as the contents of her shoulder bag or, worse still, her wardrobe. After the film has finished you can both talk about how good the film was or alternatively how bad it was. It’s a damn sight more interesting than her.
Finally, a guy can take a lady out for a hot drink, museum or similar. Both are reserved for that woman with deeper thoughts and conversational skills that are worthy of such an esteemed locale. These gals are the ones you place in the ‘potentials’ list!
I took the accountant out for dinner. Breaking the rule of thumb as previously discussed - I saw her as potential....or maybe she was just fun?
Judging by the way she dressed - the clutch bag, dazzling dress, high heels - it was hard to say...
"This place is amazing." She said taking it all in.
It WAS an startling little Thai place with an indoor pond and fake palm trees.
"It sure is. I'm gonna get you to write it up for me as an expenses bill. ‘Entertaining client'."
"Oh yeah that was the real purpose of this encounter."
"Encounter...I was gonna call my book Midnight Encounters."
"Sexy Utopia?"
"That's the one! Well remembered."
"How could I forget? You've mentioned it 100 times."
"Have I? Oops. I'll never do so again."
"Nah - keep doing so. It’s cute."
"Cute? I haven't been called cute in about 23 years!"
"23? How accurate. I've noticed you're always so precise. Do you have OCD?"
"Probably. It’s better than turrets right?"
"Yeah it’s much better I think...SHIT BALLS...sorry that was my turrets."
I laugh nervously, "You're kidding me right?!"
She laughs wildly.
"Calm down - you can't handle my humour can you?"
"I can handle many things. Including accountants with zany personalities - don't you worry your numerical mind about that. What's with the swift jokes anyway? Accountants are meant to be boring."
"Yeah, I don't know, I think I was brought up on a diet of Ritalin."
“I was brought up on a diet of stockpiled food. That's why I'm so neurotic. I have an inherit fear there's gonna be a nuclear war at any minute."
She laughs wildly.
"It’s not funny. My parents used buy food in bulk. Why? I don't know. How? I don't know. My dad worked in a bag factory and my mum as a nurse. Where did they get the money to buy in bulk?"
"Is that question directed at me? I'm an accountant not a psychiatrist. You might want to not reveal so much about yourself on a first meeting...IF you want to make a good impression."
"I don't. I don't care about impressions. That's for the recipient to deal with me. Not me! I'm at an age where making an impression is like audio tape cassette - obsolete."
A small female waiter walks over enquiring if we want to order, we both look at each other with a cheeky glare - we hadn't even picked up the menus yet!
"Can you give us 5 minutes?" She says to the tiny female waiter. As the waiter walks away I watch her - measuring her height with guestimation work...
"How tall do you reckon she is?" I ask.
"What kind of question is that?" She laughs, "As tall as she needs to be."
"She’s abnormally small - like 4ft 10 or something."
"Is that an abnormal height? 4ft 10?"
"Anything beneath 5ft is abnormal. Anything beneath that height and you can start parking in the disabled bays at supermarkets."
"Mr Politically correct aren't you? I happen to think she was cute...Regardless of her height."
"Her height is a contentious issue for you huh?"
She laughs, "It’s not"
"You're very defensive of her. How tall are you?"
"I don't know - 5ft 6 or something."
"With 7 inch heels?"
"I'll put my 7 inch heels in your arse in a minute."
"Really? Foreplay before dinner? Kinky aren't you?"
She laughs wildly - and hides her face in the menu.
"Shall we order...?" The beautiful accountant asks trying to bring some normality to the table.
"When are you inserting the heel? I just wanna assume the position beforehand."
She holds up the menu, "Shall we order maybe?"
We both look at our menus - giggling away.
"3 inch heels by the way." She mumbles to me from beyond the menu.
I retort with a similar mumble, "That'll do the trick. Size isn't everything."
We both laugh - as she cheekily hides her face back in the menu I realise that she could be a keeper. A woman who not only encourages but also compliments my neurotic manners and lack of subtly. Perfect. And just then, as I began visions of her teaching our kids how to use sarcasm as a weapon like their parents, my leg vibrated. More accurately, my pocket. Even more succinctly, my phone - I took a sneak peak at it.
It was HER. My muse.
After 2 weeks of no contact whatsoever - she decides to call me just as I'm getting to know a person infinitely better (for my sanity). Suddenly my dream -like a montage sequence, involving the perfect accountant and me, became my new writers block. It was like your computer when it gets stuck whilst you're watching an illegally downloaded film - it was stuck on the same frame. In my twisted mind, I walked out of the frame and into another film - a film full of more montage shots - this time of me and HER, my muse, and the good times we had previously. No contact in 2 weeks and she contacts me now?
The accountant looks beyond the menu at my face – my face, similar to that of a man who’s seen a ghost, shows no emotion.
“I’ve decided what I’m ordering.”
I answer back – at 25% of the enthusiasm I had all but 3 minutes ago – “oh yeah? What?”
“The lobster and the salad. The salad because I’m a woman. The lobster because I want to see how rich you really are.” She says with THAT smile on her face. Suddenly that smile isn’t as special as it was. Her voice not as soft – it was like within 3 minutes I had sobered up and found out that this beautiful princess was actually just a queen past her sell by date – the queen of England. If you will.
“You okay?”
“Yeah fine.” I reply. Pause. “Just deciding what to order.”
“Okay. Seemed like you were narrating to yourself in your head there for a second.”
“You can hear my narration?” I ask jokingly, trying to act as normal as possible.
“Yeah, I prefer the director’s commentary though. How do I put that on?”
I laugh, but not very genuinely. Suddenly she’s not as funny as well.
“Let’s order.” I say hurriedly. She gives me a look of confusion. She’s realised what’s happened. She realised that this thing we had, although short lived, is over.
I hope she was joking about the lobster - they're expensive.
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