DREAM DATE

It is six and a half in the afternoon on a Friday. It is now dinner time. Traffic on the adjacent road to the restaurant is getting crazier by the minute.

All this turmoil, however, does not impede on the beauty of the golden, rosy sunrays that filter through the window and into the room. Even better, the aromatic trail coming from the kitchen adds a sudden sensation of well-being that contrast with the external chaos of the exterior scene. A jazz, smooth and relaxing, is playing in the background; it is as if you are transported into another universe.

The servers come and go from the kitchen to the tables; one moment to this table, the other to another one. Everyone, for the most part, seem to be accompanied; or else a group of colleagues meeting after work to take way the pressure of the day.

Suddenly the attention in the room is diverted to the main entry door. A gorgeous young woman, apparently no older than thirty-five, has stepped in. She stands at the door for a few seconds as she glances across the room. Is she looking for someone? She is wearing an emerald midi dress and her light brown curls bounces as she makes her way to a table in the corner in the back. There she sits, like a goddess.

My only thought is that I hope to get close to her and better yet, join her for dinner. Nothing would flatter me more. She does not seem to be awaiting on anyone. For anyone else, that would have been reassuring, but somehow, that scares me to my core. I perceive no hope in my desire to please and be close to her. She looks through the menu and places her order.

I hold my breath. Would today be my lucky day? Would this be the moment I make my entrance?

Unexpectedly, the glass door where I am standing opens and I feel jostled. I can barely perceive where I am.

God! I am losing sight of her! From behind the server standing in front of me, I see her, barely, as I am slowly getting back to my senses.

There we go. I am heading for her table, getting closer to her little by little. Every step along the way, her beauty is dazzling, and she utterly seem to be out of my league. But I continue my way to her, shaking uncontrollably.

I am now at her table. She analyzes me from head to toes. She smiles at me and the server and softly gives an approval nod. Out of the blue, I hear a “pop” and a breath of fresh air seizes me. Her glass slowly starts to fill up and there we go again. I feel slightly weak, but this time a bit differently than before. I am happy, calm, and satisfied to be able to be in her presence. We are both silent. That is perfectly fine as I can continue admiring her splendid beauty. She looks even better up closely. Her meal comes and she takes a few bites. Then, she lightly taps her lips with her table napkin. She reaches out for her glass of merlot. Her manicure is simple and impeccable, her fingers are delicate and long. Slowly she brings her glass to her soft and lightly tinted lips. The aroma, my aroma, fills her nostrils. She closes her eyes and smiles as she takes a sip of me.

The server come around and ask:

How do you find your glass of Petrus Pomerol Madam?

Miss, she replies as she removes her wedding band. This merlot is divine! She continues, pleased that she can offer herself this luxury to celebrate her divorce.

Her first dinner as a newly divorced woman. She smiles at me once more, that celebratory wine to her newfound freedom, and there; I knew we had found each other.