Reindeer is coming over to collect his babka and have dinner. We got into a discussion about which one of us was a better chef. His disbelief that I supersede him in this arena insulted my inner desi girl who can cook veg and non-veg dinners. So it may not have been wise to bet a man for whom my intentions are lustful. See, I am really competitive. To the point where I don’t play games with my friends because I am equally awful when I win (gloat like mad) or lose (pout like a baby).
I am expecting Reindeer at 6:30 pm. The hour before his arrival I scamper around the apartment setting the lighting, adjusting the air conditioning and stirring vats of chicken curry, spinach paneer and spiced rice. Since neither of us drinks alcohol I quickly make a batch of pink lady punch pineapple juice, cranberry juice and ginger ale).
Around 6:45 pm, I worry that (a) Reindeer has stood me up or (b) I have confused the date. Even though I keep meticulous records and have the ability to remember EVERYTHING said to me, I doubt myself. At 7:00 pm just as I reach for the phone the buzzer rings. Since I assume it is him I just zap him in and open the door.
Hhhmm. I told him we were having a carpet picnic and he should dress casually. I am wearing shorts and he has on dress pants, a button-down shirt and a VERY large bouquet of sunflowers. “These are for you,” he says. “Thanks!” I reply. “You didn’t ask who was at the door,” Reindeer scolds and locks the door. It is true. I must admit that I enjoy his concern for my well being. Another sign that a man is interested. Now I am certain that we’ll kiss tonight on our lucky 7th date!
While he surveys the kitchen and lifts the lids off the pots, I pour two glasses of punch. “Impressive,” he says. “I intended to win the bet.” He nods and I know, victory is mine. And really, how can he resist me? Dinner is amazing and I now dessert will BLOW his mind.
We fill plates with food and retire to the living room where I have a printed sheet and pillows all over the floor. The down side is my stupid stereo DIED today so I enlisted the clock radio for some light jazz. For desert we enjoy white chocolate mousse with berries and a macadamia nut crunch torte (yes I made both from scratch) and finish with chai, tea spiced with my mother’s homemade masala (cinnamon, peppercorn, cloves, ginger, cardamom).
Around 11 pm he says he should head back because he has yoga and a long commute back to Westchester. He thanks me for dinner, I remind him to take his babka and he leaves. What is going on here? I am the ONLY girl who cannot get kissed in Manhattan. Aiy!