All Women Love to Be Told What’s What.
Last night’s date was via Lovestruck.com.
The Place: Fulham
The Drinks: Wine and some cocktails
The Gentleman was attractive enough, possibly even more than his original photo, which had caught my eye. He quickly suggested going out to eat, and as there was a) nothing in the house and b) the prospect of potentially coming back to the house with Mr Investment Banker for the remainder of the evening.
He picked me up in his Audi, which he rambled on about for several minutes and which I would have tuned out completely, except for the fact that everything he said was just so interesting and had the word Audi in it. Who loves a captive audience? THIS GUY!
We went for dinner at a really nice Indian place, although it would’t have been my first choice for a first date, but then again, why would anything possibly be my choice? Choice? Huh? You’re paying, so you get to tell me what I’m having, obviously. He seemed upset when I didn’t touch the lamb. I sweetly told him I was a vegetarian. Whoops.
While watching him inhale rice pudding (really, really, really unappetizing, food- and sexy-wise) he told me, between mouthfuls, “Yeah… You’ll sleep with me on the Third Date,” as if he was performing a soliloquy for the otherwise empty restaurant. Charming man! I went home in a taxi. I asked the driver to say the word “Audi” every four seconds until I landed back at home, sans-jerk!