Let's hit the highlights, shall we? For those who predicted I would fall into a puddle of pooh trying to balance two guests in one weekend (one a date and the other a guy friend see this post).....I say......you know me so well. I stand smeared in pencil skirt muck as we speak. Did it ever occur to one of you to stop me? Thanks a lot!
Subtitle: How Mimi Landed In the Dungeon Instead of In a Bed of Roses
(at left) Mimi in the dungeon. I'll be there awhile.
6:00 pm Friday evening. I am at the unmentionables counter buying well.....unmentionables. Before you let your mind wander too far, let me remind you that it's my sister's birthday. Ahem. But I digress. One black thing in the left hand and one white lacy thing in the right, Visa card in my mouth and a very inquisitive saleslady in front of me when my phone rings.
Flashing lights. It is Guest #1. Black strap slaps lady in the face and card falls to the floor as I try to answer the phone. Too late. The screen says "Missed call." I apologized to the lady, backed away from the cash register and tried to go into my call log. I can only explain what happened next as demonic possession of my cell phone. It begins to dial. Good, I thought. Technology is so wonderful. Right?
It is dialing my ex-boyfriend's number. Oh the humanity. Oh the embarrassment. Oh the dilemma. Thank goodness I shut it off before he had to choose the white or black.
Revelation #1: CLEAR ALL EX'S NUMBERS IMMEDIATELY AFTER A BREAK UP.
Too late for pencil skirt but you might want to make a note.
I'm going to hire a priest.
Revelation #2: Do not try to blame everything that happened in your last relationship on your ex-boyfriend while talking to your guy friend. He will tell you the truth. Girlfriends will let you blubber and man-bash. They will even man-bash with you. But your friend - who is similarly gender afflicted - will tell you the gosh darn truth. And it ain't pretty sometimes. No matter how many little black dresses you put on, it just ain't pretty.
Then, after you throw something at him he will let you man-bash.
The plot: Date with yummy guy in a 3-piece suit was scheduled to occur “sometime” over the weekend as soon as last minute child-sharing arrangements could be made with his ex-wife. My guy friend - we'll call him "Cutter" - had already planned to cook for me Saturday night but was prepared to postpone the cooking until Sunday lunch if need be. He really wanted me to go on this date. I was excited.
Saturday am: An email. It is yummy date “I've worked everything out with my ex and the weekend looks pretty good. Can you go tonight?” (I vaguely remember that one of my readers predicted this would happen...)
Pay attention. Here's where the ship sank.
I looked at the marinating chicken and my friend peacefully resting on the couch (who had come all this way from New York to be with me this weekend) I looked at the little black dress aching to be worn. I look at the chicken. I looked at my loyal friend. I looked at the phone.
And I found myself saying, “Can we possibly make this Sunday night? I'm sorry but I just don't see how I can get ready in time and.....” Feeling remorseful that he'd had to keep me waiting in the first place he said, “Sure. We'll do it Sunday night.” Smile. Click. More time to curl my hair.
“Was that the phone?” said sleepy Cutter.
“Yes, it was my date. We're going out tomorrow night after I take you to the airport.”
He looked at me with an I-don't-believe-you-look. “But he wanted to go out tonight, didn't he? Tell me the truth, He wanted to go tonight, didn't he?”
“No” I lied, “He can't go tonight. You and I are going to have chicken tonight and I have a date with a little black dress tomorrow night. Perfect!”
Now, you know in Mimi's world “perfect” does not usually materialize. My friend cooked Italian chicken cutlets, chicken wings and Caesar salad. “You're not taking care of yourself and you're not eating right, Mimi”...so he made enough to freeze portions for six more dinners or lunches next week and put them in baggies for me. So sweet. Thank you, my friend.
We had a fun (platonic) evening -and yes, platonic intimate relationships are absolutely possible. My best friend in college was male. We are still close. Cutter and I talked about relationships, his newest love interest, my latest disappointments with men, our crazy lives, drank wine, laughed, and went for a walk. Guy friends are the best for getting real perspective on important issues; like this gem - “The definition of 'dating more than one person' does not vary according to gender unless one person is dishonest. Therefore, Mimi Pencil Skirt, do not change your tried and true rule of not sleeping with someone on the first date, the second date, or the third date. That's a keeper. ”
“But what about the 3-date rule,” I asked. “Men have a "if-she-doesn't-sleep-with-me-by-the-third-date-I'm-outta-here" rule. Don't you know ANYthing? I asked him. “I don't believe in the third date rule myself,” he said. “I just sleep with them on the FIRST date so I don't have to worry about that rule.” More laughter. And I threw a bread roll at him.
It was a great night. I was happy to be with my friend. And he need never know I postponed the date. Tomorrow night I would be fluffed and primped and ready to go out with the cutie-pie.
Pay attention. The ship is about to take another nosedive.
8:30 am Sunday morning: The possessed phone rings again. It is my date. "I hate to tell you this, Mimi, but I'm going to have to cancel our plans for tonight. Something unexpected happened.”
You can say that again, I thought.
In unofficial sign-language I silently signal "I told you all men are scum!" to my friend who now decides to laugh rather loudly in the direction of the phone.
Revelation #3: Never. Ever. Never ever have the phone within three miles of another man while you're talking to a guy you really like.
"What was that?" asked the guy who apparently will never see my black heels in this lifetime.
"Someone is laughing," stupidly said silly me.
"Oh. You have company. I'll call back." Click.
Could this get any better?
Did it ever occur to you, Mimi Pencil Skirt, to just tell Handsome the truth?!
Guys do not understand about guy friends nor do they want to hear that you have one. They do not understand platonic chicken breasts or freezer bags full of friendship. “No one will believe I slept on the couch” is the eleventh commandment. Even I know that.
I was a mess. I sank into a puddle of pooh.
"But at least you have chicken!" Shut up.
"And lots of it!" Shut UP.
Sunday afternoon and almost time to go to the airport.
The phone rings.
It is my friend's newest lady friend and he is REALLY into her.
I am ready. Revenge was almost sweet.
Before I can say “Zip me, please?” in a very loud voice full of giggles and goosebumps he is out the door onto the porch talking to her (who, by the way, is a lovely woman with a lifetime of cutlets awaiting her) – and too nice for me to mess with her head, dateless or not. So I left them alone.
I take him to the airport, he flies away anxious to see his pretty lady friend and looking forward to more advice on women from yours truly this week.
I was looking forward to the cutlets.
And silk-stocking-less heels smirking up at me from the bottom of the closet underneath the never-worn dress.
And trying to explain to Mr. Cutie that there was a legitimate reason for having a man's barreling laughter in my house at 8:30 in the morning on a weekend after I'd just postponed our date the night before for ambiguous reasons and if he really knew I was a pencil skirt and read my blog he would understand that this is part and parcel for my life and it really does not befit a Queen to lie about such matters to her friend in the first place who just wanted to take care of her in his own sick and twisted way after all and really didn't mean for her unmentionables to burst into flames in the process.
Or I could just blame it on the devil.
6:00 pm Sunday night: Exactly 48 hours since my demon possessed phone rang a wrong wrong number, I see a smiling new face in my messenger box.
“I'm here with my son and he has a friend over. Long story with the ex. Could we have our date now?” It was ......sigh.......him.
And it was lovely.
I sat in the windowsill of the Yahoo messenger box, seductively peeping out from behind the curtains in my white pearls, little black dress and the now happy heels that had escaped from the closet floor - eating a chicken cutlet – with yellow jumbo curlers in my hair.
Some things he just does not need to know.
And I didn't even have to mention the unmentionables.
Third-date rule and all.....
Mine. Not his.