Woodchuck Martinis
Chapter 3
Italian Tonight
I met a tall, dark, and extremely handsome gentleman of Italian descent for lunch today. The picture on his singles profile showed him standing under a waterfall in Jamaica, his white, straight teeth practically glowing in contrast to his lovely tan skin. His biceps were quite prominent and bulged nicely through the water. He looked like he was in his 40s but said he was 54.
He was very proud of his Italian heritage I had found as we talked on the phone a couple of times before we actually met for lunch. His name was actually Vito...Junior, although he asked me to call him Vinnie. He had talked on the phone quite extensively about his large family including brothers, sisters, cousins, aunts, and uncles. His family values were clear and I truly appreciated this.
Vinnie’s picture showed the biggest, brownest eyes I had ever seen and a set of long, thick eyelashes that would make any woman jealous. During our phone conversations I noted that his voice was pure silk and his charm was palpable. He had a very noticeable Italian accent and explained that he had been in the United States nearly 15 years but couldn’t seem to shake those hints of his homeland completely. I had great hopes for this first date.
We met at Darb’s in Eaton Rapids where the food is always great and service is consistently friendly. We had agreed to meet in the parking lot as we had decided it was easier to identify vehicles than people if their pictures weren’t very clear on their profiles. It’s a good thing we took this route because I certainly would not have recognized this man whose picture must have been considerably dated. Still, I thought, it can be hard to find a current picture with which we’re perfectly happy.
When I actually met Vinnie, who was wearing a lime green Hawaiian shirt and khaki pants, what I noticed first was his thick, full head of hair that seemed to lilt a bit to the right, and at his age of 54 I was surprised to see not a streak of gray.
We sat down to order our meal and I became fixated, wondering if that was really his own hair. When I finally decided it was not, I focused on trying to decide whether he had hair plugs or sported a toupee. I had an almost overwhelming desire to touch his hair for confirmation either way.
After a few moments I realized I needed to stop focusing on his hair, although as he talked I watched obsessively as his whole head of hair moved as he spoke. I realized that I was not focused on our conversation or making eye contact when he touched my hand and asked if my thoughts were elsewhere.
Elsewhere, I thought. Yes, my thoughts are all up in your hair. Why is there so much of it? I then decided that he looked a bit like a Chia Pet and smiled at the thought. I’m on a first date with a Chia Pet, I thought. I wonder if more hair would sprout if I gave it a bit of water.
Vinnie noted my smile immediately.
“So you like it when I touch your hand,” he said in his lovely Italian accent spoken through that rich, velvety voice. “A good sign to be sure.”
I didn’t even know our hands were touching until the Chia Pet spoke. When he did speak my mind went down a tumultuous slide into the creative side which happens when I’m bored or not able to focus on the issues at hand. In my mind this man was standing under the waterfall which was shown on his profile picture, and when he emerged his Chia head looked like a giant, green, leafy afro extending out to his arms’ length in all directions. A bit cartoonish, I must say, and certainly enough to keep me distracted and stifling another giggle.
Focus, Lucy, just focus, I told myself. This is a lovely man, not a Chia Pet. I hoped the conversation would take my mind back to where it belonged.
“How was your drive over hair?” I said, “...I mean over here?”
“Not bad,” he said running his fingers through the faux fur lying so indiscreetly atop his head. “It only took about 20 minutes.”
“I’m glad your drive wasn’t too long. Have you decided what you want yet?” I asked.
“What I really want is you and I on a deserted island with no...”
“I mean for lunch,” I interrupted, too embarrassed to hear what might come next.
“You’re not very good at taking a compliment,” he said.
That was a compliment? I thought. Interesting; I think I liked him better as a Chia Pet than a smooth-talking Italian man.
The waitress came by to take our orders and I was happy to be rescued from this uncomfortable conversation. Vinnie ordered lemonade and explained that he was on so many pain killers that he couldn’t drink alcohol...ever. Certainly a thought-provoking statement, especially when no explanation followed. Adhering to proper first-date etiquette though I didn’t want make him uncomfortable with too many personal questions.
“Should you have made the drive this afternoon?” I asked, genuinely concerned that he not endanger his life and risk that lovely Chia toupee.
“I can drive just fine,” he assured me. “I’ve actually built up quite a tolerance to the pain medication at this point.”
“All right then,” I said.
“But don’t let that stop you from ordering a drink,” he said, “especially if it will make you frisky.”
I actually had to play that conversation back in my mind. Another compliment? A joke? Did he remember that this was our first date? Were the pain pills playing with his memory? Or perhaps the Chia hair had taken much deeper roots than was customary.
“I’d like a Mountain Dew,” I said to the waitress.
We ordered our meals and when the waitress left Vinnie became even bolder.
“Well, this is nice,” he said. “You look like you’re in great shape. Do you work out?”
“Mostly I go kayaking and roller blading in the summer,” I said “And do some water aerobics in the winter, but I do enjoy most other activities.”
“Well, let me ask you something,” Vinnie said. “If we were to start dating, how long would we have to wait to have sex?”
“Pardon me?” I said. My brain was trying to process this question which, by all standards of first date etiquette, should simply not have been asked. I could not contemplate such a question until at least the third or fourth date, and then I would expect it to be asked in a much more discrete way.
“I just asked how long we’d need to date before we could have sex,” he said again quite casually.
This, before the salads were even brought to the table! Things must really be done differently in Italy...or Chia Land...than in Eaton Rapids, Michigan.
“I don’t really have a set formula for determining that sort of thing,” I said.
“Most of the women I’ve dated actually do have a rule for that,” he said. “Most of them say three dates or four; almost never five or more.”
“I guess my rule book is lacking,” I said, “because I really haven’t determined that. I need a significant amount of time to get to know a man and it’s different with everyone.”
“How about on average?” he said. “What’s the average number of dates before we could have sex?”
“I have to say that this conversation is making me a bit uncomfortable,” I said.
“Why does a frank discussion about making love, the finest gift life has to offer, make you uncomfortable? Sex is a beautiful, most natural experience.”
“It’s just not a subject I’m comfortable discussing the FIRST time I meet a man, that’s all.” I said feeling like I had to defend my prudish sexual protocol.
“Trust me,” he said, “I could coax you out of your shell.”
“I rather like my shell,” I said.
Our meals were brought to the table and he set about indulging with a hearty appetite, having left me quite dumbfounded and rather befuddled regarding the way in which to proceed with this date. I wanted to order a box to go and exit immediately, but that would be rude. I’ve been taught from birth that the worst possible thing one can do is to be rude. It’s unacceptable. I knew I didn’t want to date him again as he was clearly a player and was more in
terested in having sex than a relationship. However I could not extricate myself from this horribly uncomfortable date and be on my way. And so I sat and watched him enjoy his meal, all the while praying for a way out that would not offend him.
This was such an interesting phenomenon as he clearly did not care that he had crossed the boundaries of proper etiquette and just continued asking how long he would have to wait to have sex, and yet proper manners are so important to me that I could barely bring myself to participate in the conversation which took center stage on this first date. I wondered if it was a cultural difference or perhaps a gender issue. Maybe men were just more able to discuss this intimate issue than women. Although I do recognize that sex tends to be more of a biological issue for men and far less a question of intimacy.
Halfway through the main course and following two more trips back to the question of how many dates in which he would have to invest before we could indulge in the “laying of the hands on your naked body by moonlight,” my phone rang. Now I insist on not allowing phones at any meal table and normally it would have been turned off, but clearly this was a gift straight from God himself.
“I apologize,” I said thinking quickly and opening up my cell phone. “I’ve been expecting a rather important call from my doctor, and this is it. Do you mind?”
“No, not at all,” Vinnie said. “I’m sure you’ll be well worth the wait.”
“Hello, Dr. Tucker,” I said.
“Mom?” my 18-year-old daughter Jessie said, clearly confused.
“Yes, doctor,” I said, “The results are back?”
“Mom, are you all right?” Jessie said. “Why are you calling me doctor?”
“Oh, dear,” I said, sporting my best look of concern. “They showed what?”
“What are you talking about?” Jessie asked.
“Hold on just a minute,” I said into the phone.
I put my hand over the receiver and looked at Vinnie.
“I’m going to take this call over there. I know it’s terribly rude, but it really can’t wait. I really am sorry.”
I turned the corner into the bar area, placing myself in a position so that Vinnie could still hear the conversation.
“All right doctor,” I said, “I’m back.”
“What doctor?” Jessie said, clearly not catching on to the situation.
“The STD panel said what?” I asked.
“What’s an STD panel?” Jessie asked.
“So, herpes was positive but gonorrhea was negative? What about chlamydia? How did that look?”
“Oh dear God,” Jessie said, the situation obviously dawning her. “You’re on a date with a loser and you’re blowing him off by telling him you’re infested with sexually transmitted diseases! How bad must this man really be?”
“So, it’s the worst you’ve seen, Dr. Tucker?” I asked.
Jessie started to laugh...a deep, resounding laugh that seemed to go on for several minutes.
When she quit laughing she finally said, “Oh, it’s the worst, all right. The worst way to blow off a date ever!”
“About how long will the treatment last, Dr. Tucker?”
“Until you figure out how to dump a man without utterly humiliating yourself.”
“Thank you, Doctor, I’ll stay on the treatment for a full eight weeks.”
“There will be a quiz at that time, mom. I hope you pass with flying colors.”
“Did you need anything else, Doctor?”
“Yeah, mom,” Jessie said. “I was calling to tell you that I’ll be driving to the mall with Renee this afternoon. I’ll see you when I get back.”
“Thank you for letting me know, Doctor. Have a good afternoon.”
“You too,” she said.
When I returned to the table I noticed a striking change in Vinnie. He had gone from the smooth-tongued, debonair playboy to a fidgety, nervous man whose meal had not been touched following my phone call. He looked at his watch and then at the door.
“So,” I said, “about that time line we were discussing before we were so rudely interrupted...”
“Time line?” Vinnie asked, looking rather nervous I thought.
“Yes, the time line,” I said. “You know, you and me naked in the moonlight.”
“Naked?” he asked clearly looking frightened now
“Yes, naked,” I said. “I’m thinking this could happen in as little as eight weeks if we play our cards right.”
“You know,” Vinnie said, “I wonder if I’m coming down with something. I’m suddenly feeling a bit ill and I really must be going. Can I call you tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow would be fine,” I said. “I’m really looking forward to the next few weeks.”
“Uh, me too,” Vinnie said, no longer making eye contact of any kind.
He snapped his fingers at the waitress then, paid the tab in spite of my offering to chip in, and bolted out of the restaurant.
Why is it that Vinnie could feign illness in the middle of the meal with no regard to how it would make him look or the way it would make me feel, and yet I felt the need to go to such lengths to cover up the fact that I was offended and just wanted to go home? Those early roots continue to rear their ugly heads as our moms taught us to be concerned with other peoples’ feelings at all costs, even above our own.
What kind of example was I setting for my impressionable daughter who was also swimming in the dating pool? How would I react if I received a call like this from her?
Perhaps I could learn from Vinnie, but find a kinder way in which to express my feelings in the future so that I don’t hurt a man’s feelings nor feel the need to fabricate a sexually transmitted disease to salvage someone else’s ego. I hereby pledge that this will be my new goal in dates to come...to consider my needs as important as those around me and to never again endure a truly unpleasant date in which I’m made to feel inadequate. I felt refreshingly liberated as I ordered a martini.
Perhaps my date with Vinnie didn’t work out so well, but my favorite recipe for shrimp scampi always does. It will help you move past a bad date in no time.
Ditching Vinnie’s Shrimp Scampi
1/3 cup dry, white wine
Juice of 2 lemons
3/4 cup butter, melted
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 head of garlic
1 tablespoon parsley
2 cups shredded three-cheese Parmesan, Asiago, and Romano
1 pound raw shrimp, peeled, tails removed
1 pound linguini noodles, cooked according to directions
1. Cut the tip off of the head of garlic, drizzle with olive oil, and wrap in aluminum foil. Bake at 375 degrees for 30 minutes. When cooled, peel the cloves of garlic and mince in a mini-chopper.
2. Prepare and drain linguini according to package directions.
3. Combine white wine, lemon juice, melted butter, olive oil, minced garlic, and parsley.
4. Place shrimp in baking dish and cover with the above mixture. Bake at 375 degrees for 8 minutes or until the shrimp are shaped like a “C”. If the shrimp are shaped like an “O” then they’re overcooked.
5. Place cooked linguini in a pasta bowl and pour the shrimp and sauce over linguini. Add the cheese and mix.
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