You are shaking up contrieu, vodka and lime. It is the back end of an Ian Moss gig in
Tasmania. I have been watching you for a while. I like the way your hair
chopsticks fall out and you find them, twirl your long brown hair around and stick
them back in. I found one once, on Sandy Bay road. It could only have belonged
to you, feathers and ribbons hanging from it. I wondered if I should give it
back to you, or if that would be creepy. We had never spoken.
My friend Kate works with you. She says you are weird but nice.
I am ready. I go up to the bar.
Hello sunshine you
say, smiling.
I hand you the note I have written.
“Would you please go out with
me? Please tick a box – Yes or No. Also, please write your phone number in the
space provided below.”
You start laughing.
This is a first. That is awesome!
You tick the ‘yes’ box and write a phone number down. I wonder if it
is actually yours. I cant believe this worked. I am a god-damn genius.
I text you that night and it goes back and forth for a bit.
‘If you want to go
out with me, you are actually going to have to speak to me at some point, you realise this right? Do
you want to just call?’
F*ck!
No. How about
grapeseed tomorrow afternoon at 5.
Ok. See you then little
mermaid.
When we meet I stuff my hands in my pockets, look at you quickly
and look away. You are wearing big sunglasses but I can still see your smile.
You sip a glass of sad blanc, nibble olives and watch me. You talk a little about the
generalities of life, ask me a few questions. As you finish your drink you are
looking at me oddly.
Um, are you ok?
Can’t talk,
nervous.
I rock back and forth and stare straight ahead.
Riiiiiiiiiiiiiight.
Are you scared of me? Your tone is soft but bemused. I’m here. I came. I think you’re cute. I
don’t understand why you are afraid. Hey. Talk to me?
We sit there for another moment. I can’t stop rocking. You nod slowly and find a sparkly pink pen in your bag, turn over your coaster
and start writing.
So, this date is
clearly not going to work out. BUT, if you are ever in this situation again you
should have 10 polemic questions you can ask. To, like, keep the
conversation going. Here you go, I’m starting you off. My all time favourite is
‘what was the worst sex of your life.” I also like the last supper question but
that’s not for everyone.
You push me to come up with 9 more questions like I am your retarded little cousin Barry. When we are done I clutch the coaster and look at it.
So, what was the
worst sex of your life? You burst out laughing.
No! you can’t use
them on me! I’m the one who wrote them for you!
You stand up, kiss me on he cheek and leave.
Did I just totally blow it? I go to shout down the road, but the words won't come out.
