The dog days are over

“Where’d you meet him?”

“At the dog park,” I responded

“Well, if that isn’t the perfect meet-cute to start a passionate love affair, IDK what is,” Monique said dryly.

I looked at her and laughed. Monique was a serial girlfriend. She was the girl who was always in a relationship and who was always swapping out boy toys. For one minute, Kyle was the one, blond, strong, intelligent…rich, then two days later she’d be talking about this dreamboat she met at a gallery opening, Mattias. Monique was a not-so-struggling artist living off of her wealthy parents who indulged her every whim. Secretly, I think they hoped someone would work so she’d calm down and use that RISD degree. Apparently, Mattias was sweet, and sensitive, and had eyes you could fall into. The next day, Kyle was gone, and Mattias was sleeping over, and it was his weird grunting she could hear through the paper-thin walls. Better than Kyle’s high pitched squealing when he finished, that was for sure. What was sex? What was an orgasm? Where does the peen go? I didn’t even remember.

“Well, when you’ve found my match let me know, until then I’ll take what I can get,” I said.

Monique rolled her eyes at me and said, “don’t wear your dog walking fanny pack and maybe not that shirt, or those jeans, and maybe some earrings.”

I looked at her and then back at myself in the mirror. Ugh, Monique was probably right. Boyfriend jeans and a t-shirt did absolutely nothing for me. This is what I wore around him. Him. Him who “could’ve been the one,” but wasn’t anymore. Shout out to my girl T. He was safe. So safe that the whole time we were together we never had sex and, god I missed that validation. Yes, I know, validation from sex is a slippery slope, but like IDGAF, I needed to feel desired and pretty and I was ready for a fun distraction. I needed something besides 1800’s era, sleeping together but definitely not touching because that probably crossed the line. Yeah, I needed fun. The man I was going out with was much older than me, early 40s, successful, smart, and definitely saw me as fun and young and no one he would take seriously. Which was fine, I was kind of looking for the opposite of serious, someone who’s name I could forget, easily, because names aren’t all that easy to forget. I appreciated older men, people my age often thought I was intense, “bullheaded.” When I’m 30 I’ll find another 30-year-old who is my equal and I’m not bringing home a 50-year-old. My family wouldn’t even talk about it behind my back, they would air their disproval openly and constantly. Older men weren’t intimidated, they were excited they were getting laid by someone “young and fun.” Not to mention he was god-like in appearance. That was the only reason I even considered it was because, and I know this might be sexist, but men like him shouldn’t have a small yappy dog. He needed like a lab, someone who did manly stuff. A Pomeranian was not manly, my mom had Pomeranians. I had a perfectly normal size doodle who went on runs and hikes and swam in the ocean. I sat there frozen staring in the mirror, Weighing the costs and benefits of potential sex, going, or no sex, not going.

“Hello, Um hello, HELLO!” Monique shouted while waving her hand in front of my face. I snapped back to attention and saw Monique had a pretty, low-cut tank top and was searching through my jeans. She grabbed a pair and threw them at me.

“Mo,” I began “its…”

“Fine,” she said, “It's good.”

I sighed and put them on. She grabbed me some gold hoops and said, “don’t worry its always better to be the waitee than the waiter”

“Shit,” I exclaimed. It was 7:25 and my date was in five freaking minutes. I grabbed my jacket, pulled on my converse, and rushed out the door screaming “hate you” at Monique who definitely knew what time it was. I should’ve sent her. While I was on my way out, I saw Mattias, “Hey Sof…” he started, “Sorry, late, bye” I interrupted and hurried down the stairs. Bless, he was coming over now, hopefully, their loud-ass sex would be over when she got home. It had been a long week.

For our date, I suggested drinks and a walk around the park. Without the dogs.

I rushed to the bar that was close to my apartment, Florence Sans Machine. I liked the fun cocktails, and it played almost exclusively Florence and the Machine. She had heard rumors that Florence herself owned the bar, but that couldn’t be confirmed. Also, it was close to my place so if sex happened, I didn’t have to see that tiny-ass yappy thing he called Tutu.

I came upon the bar, slightly flushed, and breathing a little bit harder than usual. Hopefully, the sweat wasn’t too extreme, and he didn’t notice my labored breathing. What an impression. While rushing and completely oblivious to the world around me, I was abruptly jarred back to reality by a pole which, of course, collided with my forehead, sounding off a loud bang. “Fan-freaking-tastic.” I thought as I murmured a soft “ouch.” Yep. This happened. At this bar. The one I frequented. The one with people I recognized. The one I would have to avoid from now until forever because of well, how embarrassing. I looked around my face a cherry tomato because now not only was I out of breath, I was also mortified. Crying sounded pretty good right about now.

“What a collision,” said the smoothest voice I had ever heard.

I turned and saw a man perched against the wall. Dark hair, dark clothes, and even darker eyes, almost black, like an abyss, and they were looking at me intently. With those eyes, I felt like he could see into me. Suddenly I felt very naked. I thrust my hands in my jacket pockets resisting the urge to wrap them around myself. “I don’t have a lot of experience with suddenly appearing poles,” I said.

He laughed, a beautiful sound, and said, “I wasn’t aware poles suddenly disappeared.”

“Maybe it’s a me thing,” I responded laughing, “pretty lucky, huh?”

He motioned to the bench across from me, and I sat down next to him.

“Been here before?”

“Yes, actually, I like cheap cocktails and I love the music they play.”

“Cocktails?” he asked, “that’s not something to sip on while listening to Vance Joy. I’ve heard this bar is known for its wines, something along the lines of best in the city according to Instagram.” Vance Joy, one of my favorites.

“Hah,” I chuckled in my head if only he saw me in college, queen of slap the bag, and chugging wine with a straw. My palette hadn’t matured as much as my sisters after college. Shit, he was looking at me, I didn’t even remember the question. “What would you sip on then?” I said quickly responding, hoping the break in conversation wasn’t too long.

“Merlot,” he responded.

“Ah wine,” I said intellectually. I looked around and leaned in as if to tell him a secret, “Wine is crap” I whispered in his ear. He laughed out loud. I internally smiled, I liked his laugh, it was almost musical. With those dark eyes and that laugh, he was trouble, I could tell.

“If I’m being honest, I don’t have a taste for red wine. I like sweet whites, mostly in sangria.” I said truthfully.

“You must not be drinking the right kind of wine,” he mused.

How about a deal, “try the wine I pick and if you like it, as I assume, you join me for a walk, if you don’t enjoy it, cocktails on me.”

I looked around and checked my watch. Had I really been exchanging playful banter standing outside with this handsome stranger for half an hour? I felt strangely comfortable in the company of this mysterious man.

“Unless you are waiting for someone, of course,” he said.,

“Oh”… I began but paused and instead scanned the sidewalk. No sign of Tutu’s dad. He could be late, but honestly, I didn’t care anymore. “Actually, I am free.”

“How lucky for me,” he said

They walked into the bar and he clandestinely looked around before reaching behind the bar and grabbing the most expensive-looking bottle of merlot. Not that I would know, wine was wine and two buck chuck was affordable and got the job done, not painlessly, but still.

I looked at him, “Great,” I thought, “He’s a criminal.”

“But…” I began,

“Don’t worry, I know the owner,” He said winking at her.

“Florence?” I said in mock awe.

He smiled but didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed two glasses and walked up a staircase. I followed him and gasped when he opened the door to a stunning garden with a spectacular view of the park lake.

While I was absorbing my surroundings, he poured two glasses, walked over, and offered me the merlot. I took the glass of merlot and breathed in trying to look like I somewhat knew what I was doing, to my surprise it wasn’t vile. It was actually intriguing, I wanted to know more. I wanted to know more about two things in this garden in fact. That when I decided, that even if it wasn’t true, I would love this wine.

They clinked their glasses together,

“to merlot,” he said.

“to merlot,” I echoed.

I smiled and took my first sip and within that sip I let myself go, giving in to the silky Merlot and giving in to this new man.