90. WILL YOU KEEP MY BABKA?

I am, pretty much, a straight shooter. When I give my word I bind myself to it. If I offer to plan your baby shower, it is going to be best damn blue or pink party you attend. If your life falls apart I will bring the super glue and help piece it back together. If we’re having dinner at 7:00 pm I will be there at 6:58.

Now that Reindeer is en route to pick me up for a date, I am reliving last night and feeling disappointed for giving Super Smarty my number. It’s not like I can blame the faithful girl stand-by ‘I was drunk’, because I was STONE COLD sober. Ugh.

I pull my 7 For All Mankind jeans out of the closet (these jeans were more expensive than my Ann Taylor dress pants and I wear those to work!) and toss on a black and white printed I.N.C. shirt. Oooo, my never worn green Franco and Sarto heels would be perf!

When Reindeer rings, I lock the apartment and hop into the car. He slides off his sunglasses looks at my outfit and says, “I thought I said casual.” I furrow my brows. “Jeans are my idea of casual.” He smirks and eases the car away from the curb then heads south on Broadway. “Where are we going?” I ask. “You’ll see,” Reindeer says. “Did you do anything fun last night?” I ask. “Saw a movie,” Reindeer says. I nod and say, “With your other girlfriend?” What the? Who said that? Shooot a pickle! Either I really have some desi Hindu guilt for TALKING to Super Smarty or I’m being passive/aggressive about his second profile that I am clearly STILL harboring negative feelings about. He glances at me and shakes his head. “I’m not seeing anyone else.” Oh.

He finds a metered space and says, “Can you walk in those shoes?” I flash a bored look, “Yes!” Reindeer nods but his body language demonstrates doubt. I’ll show him! Of course I wish I knew where we were going, that would make it easier to “show him”. As luck would have it (finally) we enter a deli. “So this Zabar’s,” Reindeer says. I nod. He laughs. “What?” I demand. “This is a New York institution. I’m showing you the sights.” Aw, that’s sweet the Big City Desi Slicker is showing the little bumpkin from Minnesota around town.

We have lunch and then wander through the grocery store where a substantial amount of time is spent in the coffee/tea aisle and then the bakery where Reindeer selects a chocolate babka. We hop back into the car and go back to my neighborhood. “So I have a problem,” Reindeer says. “What's that I ask?” I am mildly impressed that my feet don’t hurt. “I am going golfing now.” “Uh-huh,” I reply, these are cute shoes. “Well my babka will melt in the heat,” Reindeer states. He’s right, it might. “So will you keep my babka? Just pop it in the freezer.”

I don’t get this man at all. Still no kiss, but now I am storing his babka … indefinitely?