116. RETURN OF THE DESI BANKER

I have seriously lost my mind. For some reason I thought I could “pop” into Macy’s and return some shoes I don’t love and buy some lipstick I do. But going there three Saturdays before Christmas is like making crystal meth in my apartment. Suicidal. Because this is the earthly shopping portal to hell.

After months of not hearing from him, the Banker (Post 76, 69, 60, and 59)  has invited me out to lunch. We've decided to be friends, which is fine. He likes un-fed waifs that look like boys and I like to eat!

I get to his apartment in a building where he pays pays four times what I do to live in a new, modern, sleek building. We do the mock-hug and he says, “You just missed the NYPD do their drill. 50 cars head east and then west. It is quite loud." "Wow," I say not really knowing the proper response. “Is it cold outside?” the Banker asks and surveys his coat closet. “Don’t ask me. I’m Minnesotan with a warped idea of cold,” I reply. “Good point,” he replies. The other question that should not be posed my way, “is this spicy?” I grew up in a Punjabi house where spice reigns. Pepper me up baby, because this maharani (desi for queeen) likes it hot!

We sit down to lunch and Banker asks, “So what’s new?” “I am dating again after Reindeer.” “Oh so that is why you were ignoring me?” the Banker scolds. What? The Banker just called me last week after months, so who is ignoring who? “Tell me about Reindeer,” the Banker asks.“Do you want me to start with his out-dated pictures that didn’t reveal his bald spot, until AFTER I met him?” I ask in a saccharine tone and   nibble on my bacon, also the reason I could never be a vegetarian. I would rather die than live without bacon.

The Banker asks me to retell the entire relationship and so I do. I am shocked that the nonsense Banker never tunes me out or asks me to get to the point. When I finish my story he sits quietly for several minutes, adjusting the collar of his turtleneck, thinking, reflecting and finally speaks. “So what’s the reason for the break-up?” Huh. No one has ACTUALLY asked that question, including me. “I don’t know. He said he had been thinking about and didn’t think it would work,” I reply. “What does that mean?” The Banker demands. “How the hell do I know?” I snap. “Do you like him?” The Banker asks. I shrug.

“Look, I think it is hard to find someone these days. I think you should call him up and talk to him,” the Banker suggests gently. Full disclosure: For weeks I have wanted to contact Reindeer. I admit it. I am weak. But I am trying so hard to be strong, reminding myself that when a man wants you he does not allow days, weeks and months slide by. “Actually,” the Banker says and flashes an amused and sexy smile. “I dare you call him.”