Let’s work our way backwards, shall we? Because frankly, there are few things sexier than a man in his pjs standing in front of the stove making you breakfast…
It’s Saturday morning and as indicated by the missing blog post, I’ve stayed the night. Why? Well, we’ll get to that later. For now, I’m in the shower and The Wedding Date wants to know if scrambled eggs are okay.
“Perfect!” I tell him.
A minute later he knocks on the door again.
“How do you feel about a few veggies?”
“I was thinking tomatoes, onions and bell peppers—okay with you?”
“Yes, except…” I let my voice trail off for a moment. I don’t want to sound fussy—after all, the man is cooking me breakfast for goodness sakes!—but sometimes you’ve got to lay down the law right from the beginning, just like The Wedding Date did a few weeks ago when I attempted to bring cookies into his living room. And peppers—well, peppers in my opinion are an even bigger deal than cookies.
“Everything sounds great except for the peppers,” I tell him. “I’m not such a huge fan of peppers. But you can still put them in—don’t make a separate batch for me. I’ll just pick them out.”
“Alright,” he says, “I’ll see.”
A few minutes later, I wander in the kitchen to discover that he’s got some sort of strange concoction brewing on the back burner.
“Is that hot chocolate?” I ask.
“Yep. Colombian hot chocolate.”
“Really? Is it spicy?” I love spicy hot chocolate. In fact, the only thing sexier than a man in his pjs standing in front of the stove making you breakfast is a man in pjs making you Colombian hot chocolate.
He’s already set the table—placemats, juice glasses, the whole nine yards—and before I know it, I’ve got a plate full of scrambled eggs (“I left the peppers chunky so you can pick them out”) and sausages, plus a mug full of steaming Colombian hot chocolate.
It’s perfect. In fact, I’m going to suggest to The Wedding Date that he open a charm school for men so that hapless fellows like my brother and a certain-man-from-Pittsburgh-whom-shall-remain-nameless can learn how it’s done.
Given The Wedding Date’s love of Latin music, we dine to the sounds of Shakira and Maná (in particular, their “Sueños Líquidos” album which… well I’m pretty sure the name translates to something totally inappropriate for breakfast) and just as I’m getting ready to leave, a bachata comes on.
Obviously, we dance. But then I remember that I’m supposed to have left for work fifteen minutes ago and given my track record, I’d better get going.
I tear myself away, thank The Wedding Date for breakfast and head off to the studio where I arrive 90 minutes ahead of schedule. Since I’m sick of taking time out of my day to continue hashing things out with Date #7, I decide to take advantage of this opportunity to give him a call. He’s launched a campaign for a return visit to Pittsburgh and even though I love to travel and have never shied away from the romance (and potential drama) of a long distance relationship, I’m hesitating. In fact, I haven’t even looked at flights and Date #7 has been asking me to come out for months.
“Well, well, well,” he answers the phone. “Look who we have here.”
He knows I’ve spent the night The Wedding Dates and the conversation quickly goes from bad to worse. By the time I hang up, my Colombian hot chocolate is all gone and my mascara is all bleary because— surprise, surprise—the man from Pittsburgh has, once again, reduced me to tears.
I pull myself together and head into the studio where I’ve got thirty students waiting for me—students who, for the most part, look up to me—and I realize I can’t go on like this. It’s not dating two men that’s the problem. In fact, I discussed this very subject with The Wedding Date after dinner on Friday night and he informed that although he “doesn’t love it” he can tolerate it for now, especially as I’ve been upfront with him since the beginning and he knew what he was getting himself into.
The problem is dating a man who makes me feel miserable. In fact, my Colombian hot chocolate high has totally evaporated and my day has gone from good to bad in a matter of minutes. By the time Sunday night rolls around, I resolve to call Date #7 for the last time.
So yes: tomorrow’s post will include a rather important announcement. Actually make that two. Plus, a full description of The Wedding Date’s Star Wars-themed Christmas tree (I know you’ve all been waiting with bated breath for this) and full disclosure (okay, almost full disclosure) as to what actually happened on Friday night and how it was that a certain someone convinced me to stay… see you then!