Wednesday, December 21, 2005

A Typical Date in Dade County

Kathy suggests that you take her to dinner, and since you do so love when a girl suggests you pay for her meal you ignore this blatant red flag and agree. She suggests a Tapas restaurant in the Grove which sounds acceptable. During this conversation, she uses the word “like” 47 times in 10 minutes. You counted. Perhaps once she figured out where your 949 cell phone number was from she decided to change her faux-Americana persona to “Dumb California Blonde.” No matter, not everyone can be the master of verbal communication that you are.

You drive out to Westchester (pronounced Weh-Cheh-Ter by the locals) to Miller and 107th to pick her up. There are two pickup trucks, a red Honda Accord and a silver Jetta in the driveway. You don’t bother asking which one is hers, because it is in section 27 of the Dade County Code that all single Cuban girls are required to drive Jettas or 3 series BMW’s. I know ladies who have been ticketed for otherwise. She gets into your car and immediately begins to complain about how much she hates her job, doing whatever the hell it is Cuban girls do until they find some Latin guy who insists on “Taking care of them.” This conversation lasts the entire drive to the Grove, save for two interruptions to tell you that you are going the wrong way.

During dinner, you actually get to talk a little about yourself and she seems fairly interested in what you have to say. She seems even more interested in the $8 glasses of wine she is drinking like they are tap water You begin to do the math in your head and realize you have easily eclipsed the $40 threshhold.

You meander over to Green Street, a bar that, as many times you have been to the Grove, you have never bothered to go to. You immediately realize why when the clientele is not the American UM crowd or blue collar Miami crowd that populates your usual Grove hangouts, but rather a collection of upscale Cubans and South Americans that would fit in better at Noir or the Four Seasons at Happy Hour. You sit on a couch on the sidewalk, one of the lovely features of this place, and she immediately orders a bottle of expensive wine. You inform her that “This is on you, right? Since I paid for Dinner?” ($85, by the way. Tom Leykis would be disgusted). She agrees, with a smile. The wine comes and you take two sips and she says, “You’re very laid back with girls, aren’t you? Like, most guys would be all over me by now. Like, do you expect me to make the first move?’ “Absolutely,” you tell her. With that, you immediately begin making out on the couch. It is pure foreplay with clothes on. Grabbing, licking, touching. You can only imagine the show the Argentines at the next table are getting.

“I feel like I have to hold back with all these people around,” she tells you. You inform her that you basically live alone, and that she is more than welcome to not hold back there, and that you would be happy to take her back to Mama’s house in the morning. "That far??!!" she wines, "I’m not going all the way to Palmetto Bay! Ew, I, like, hate that place. There is not shit down there. God, I totally wish I had, like my own place. My mom, she waits up for me.” And you are 28, right? And you still live at home? This may be a downgrade from the cokehead stripper. At least she had her own place. You continue making out and try to persuade her to come home with you, which she declines over and over while shoving her tongue down your throat in front of about 150 strangers.

You drive her home, making out at every red light, and drop her off at her Mama’s house. She invites you in to sleep on the couch, but you politely decline, opting instead for the comfort of your own bed and the Hotel Erotica you TIVO’d while you were gone. “When do you get back?” she asks, “Tuesday?” “Yes,” you tell her. “Good,” she says. “Next time you can come in and meet my family. Eventually you can stay here.” “Why don’t you just come to Palmetto Bay?” you ask. “I told you, I hate driving. I’m totally not driving that far.” Palmetto Bay, for the record, is closer to Weh-Cheh-Ter than the Grove. “But we can like, go to dinner or something when you get back. Call me.” Frustrated, angry and sad at the same time, you begin to wonder if this is the type of girl Leykis was warning you about. Are most girls this bad and have you just been lucky thus far? Or is this chick the exception to the rule? Having avoided Cuban girls as best you can, you wonder if perhaps this was the reason. She leaves her sweater in your car, maybe on purpose, maybe in drunken forgetfulness.

So, of course, you will call to tell her and ask her out again. Why? Male logic. As awful as this girl seems, she does show a strong physical attraction to you and would probably be at least decent in bed. Or she may follow the “The Way we are in Bed is the Way We Are in Life” philosophy and expect men to do everything for her. She let you get far enough in the car, so you reason she will probably sleep with you within a couple more dates. You just have to stick to the 3-date rule better than you did the $40 one.


At 9:09 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Eeeew gross, Westchester?...Well atleast for your next date your just a hop, skip, and a jump from Santa's Enchanted Forest!


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