Don't Bore Me.

Above all, don't bore me.

So a couple of weeks ago Howard e-mailed me and asked if I'd like to go with him to Kingfisher for dinner tonight, as his bass teacher was going to be playing there for New Year's Eve.

(Who's Howard, you ask. Howard is a 59yo man who works at the UofA as the business manager of the MMT (Multiple Mirror Telescope) Observatory. He's a photographer and ham radio operator and jazz aficionado and, really, a nice guy. But he's very reserved and I feel like a bull in a china shop when I'm around him. And he's rigid and anal retentive to the Nth degree. Oh, and he's never been married and never had children, so tell me exactly how he could understand or identify with me, who lives for and is astoundingly devoted to her children and grandchildren.)

My house is in utter chaos right now as I'm trying to get furniture moved around and clutter consolidated and things moved offsite to a storage unit and just generally prepare for a painter to come in. I straightened up as much as I could today, but there is nothing peaceful about my house.

To set the stage, I'll tell you that Howard came over to see the new house in June of 2006, shortly after I moved in. It was June and he was wearing beige shorts. When we got back from dinner, I suggested we sit outside. He wouldn't sit in the lawn chair until I brushed the twigs and leaves out of it.

Tonight he came over half an hour before our dinner reservations. I offered him a glass of wine. We sat on the couch and chatted. As soon as Howard sat down, Rudi jumped up on the couch, as he automatically does for everyone, assuming that anyone who walks in this house loves him and wants to pet him. Howard immediately made a shooing-away motion with his hand, making it clear that Rudi was not to come anywhere near him. I picked Rudi up and moved him to my bedroom. I had been working on a bead crochet rope before Howard arrived (Bindy and I have a plan for selling my ropes and her beads at the bead show in February), so I picked it up and continued to work on it. After about five minutes he looked at what I was doing and kind of smirked. Then he said, "Am I bothering you?" I said, "Do you mind if I work on this? Am I being rude?" And instantly it was very clear that he thought I was being outrageously rude. So I put my beads away and sat and chatted with him for twenty minutes until time to leave for the restaurant.

Once in the restaurant, we looked at the menu and decided what we would order. The waiter came up as soon as we got there, then disappeared for 20 minutes. Finally the waitress assigned to the table next to us came over to help us. I ordered the salmon with polenta and asparagus. Howard ordered the Ahi tuna with mashed sweet potatoes, asparagus and shrimp salsa. The waitress asked him if he wanted it rare or medium rare and he looked astonished. They had a little discussion while she explained how people eat tuna, after which she told him she'd have it done medium. He did not order wine or ask if I'd like anything, and did not order an appetizer or salad, nor ask if I'd like one. Ten minutes later our entrees come out and his was medium rare—still considerably pink. And it was topped with shrimp salsa, as the menu stated. He picked at it and was very upset that it was pink. And said he thinks shrimp are disgusting. When the waitress came over again, she very graciously said she'd take it back and have them cook it more. He said, no, he didn't want it. Would she just bring him the sweet potatoes and asparagus with the salmon and no sauce or salsa.

I have to hand it to the wait staff at this restaurant. They were incredibly gracious. Unlike my date.

We ate our dinners and listened to the music and found things to talk about, but as the evening wore on I was getting more and more short of patience. We finished our meals and the waiter brought the dessert menu. We passed. I excused myself to go to the ladies' room. When I came back, I said to him, "Would you like to split the check?", knowing he (who makes six figures to my two houses and four mortgages) would say no. Oh you silly girl. He said, "Would you mind?" Now let's be clear. I was trying to be gracious. HE invited ME out this evening. I didn't invite him, nor suggest the restaurant, nor make the reservations. But in being a gracious Southern Belle in this they-changed-all-the-rules world of dating over 50, I got to pay for my own dinner on New Year's Eve.

I gave the waiter my credit card, Howard gave me cash, I overtipped out of spite because I knew he would have undertipped, I pulled out a $5 to put in the musicians' tip jar because I knew it wouldn't occur to him, and I started yawning.

We got in the car and he dropped me at the curb in front of my house and waited while I opened the door.

And here I sit, water supply to the house turned off until morning when I can call the plumber, alone and disgusted with the state of my life. Oh yeah, and I neglected to tell you that I lifted a bunch of rocks to spread in the backyard on Saturday afternoon and hurt my back. I'm in pain and can't move from standing to sitting to standing to lying down.

Just shoot me. Please. But don't bore me!