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Pretension Is A Four Letter Word

September 27, 2010

Girls Like Notes

It was a cool September evening in New York City. The air had that perfect chill reminding you that fall was just around the corner. People were whipping out their cashmere wraps and warmest blazers. It was Fashion’s Night Out. I am not sure what it’s for, but its a new thing they do during fashion week to raise money for starving models, or something to that effect. Stores leave their doors open till past 10 pm and fill their spaces with DJ’s and mini cupcakes, models and bridge and tunnel party goers who imagine themselves fashionistas for the night. The streets in the Meat Packing district looked like a night out in South Beach. Max and I headed into one of the stores where I immediately spotted a man in high heels. The store was owned by a friend of ours and the head of PR was a friend of Max’s. So together we took part in supporting the evenings festivities.

After one too many hours on my feet I kissed Max goodbye and headed to meet some friends who were in from out-of-town at one of my favorite restaurants in the West Village. I was chatting with them at the bar when suddenly I lock eyes with a handsome stranger across the room. It was the kind of intense eye contact you can’t really look away from, and you don’t really want to. Suddenly the room begins to spin like a scene from Matrix where the people freeze but the scenery is spinning, and it feels like a good thing.

Suddenly he disappears. Yet another new york missed connection, I think to myself and continue on with my conversation. Not long after, a waitress approaches.

“Excuse me, you have a note.”

“Me?” I say, knowing who it is from, but very shocked he sent it over. He was brave, I was impressed. I like brave. It felt like study hall, only better, because it was in a bar. And I was allowed to talk to my friends.

I opened up the note and written in very neat cursive handwriting it said:

“I am not sure who you are with, but I would love to invite you to come have dinner with me. I could stare at you at the bar all night, but then we would never eat.” signed with his name and his number.

I was excited by the idea of this note. It’s the type of thing you would like to happen when you make eye contact with strangers, but doesn’t usually happen, if ever. I liked that he was very bold and stepped up to the plate and it certainly made for a good story.

I entered his number into my phone and sent him a text:

“I am sorry, tonight I am with my friends, but hopefully a rain check.”

“Excellent, I would love that.” he replied and we exchanged a few more texts. Suddenly he asked if I was feeling spontaneous enough to possibly have dinner with him the next night. It was perfect. The following week was busy and I couldn’t imagine when I would get the chance again.

“I have a birthday party to attend but we can meet for a quick bite before if you’d like”

“That would be great!” He said, “I look forward to tomorrow.”

With that I turned off the ringer on my phone so I could get some sleep.

Please don’t be gay. I thought to myself as I shut my eyes.

The next evening I headed downtown to one of my all time favorite restaurants to meet the handsome stranger for dinner. He was certainly as cute as I remember, but I had yet to hear his voice.

“Hi, I’m Darcy” I said shaking his hand.

“Hi, I’m Adam. Nice to really meet you.”

We are ushered to our table where the waiter sits us and as soon as he seats me, Adam takes his chair and complains,

“He did it wrong.”

“I’m sorry?”

“He was supposed to seat you on this side of the table. The lady should be the one to look out.”

I’m sorry Countess deLesseps, I didn’t realize we were being held to such high etiquette standards.

“Would you like to switch?” I asked, realizing that Adam was way more high maintenance than I was.

“No, it’s fine. I’m just saying.”

Why. Why are you saying that?

It didn’t take long for me to realize Adam was much cuter from across the bar with no actual talking involved. He was…well..pretentious.

The waiter approached,

“Would you like something to drink? Maybe some wine to start?”

“What would you recommend to put with the Arrabiata sauce? Something to bring out the flavor,” he asked with some type of faux Philip Seymour Hoffman-esque affected accent that only works on Philip Seymour Hoffman.

You could smell the pretension from across the table. I quickly wondered if I could somehow kill myself with a bread stick. There had to be some dangerous manuever I could try. Possibly sticking it through my eyeball, jabbing myself through the heart.

Please, if you are out with me, please don’t parade your foodie-ness around me. Also Adam, i’m pretty sure you don’t know anything about wine, so please don’t pretend. It’s awkward and uncomfortable for everyone involved. Including the waiter, who by the way, was laughing when you asked that question.

His pretension didn’t end there. He peppered the conversation with references to his handmade shoes, and custom-made blazer, his love of fashion and art.

“I mean, how have people NOT gone to Basel.” He proclaimed.

I feel the same way about BBQ, I wanted to say, but kept it all inside.

I imagined myself in a cone of silence.

“Darcy? are you listening?”

“No, sorry Adam, I am officially in my cone of silence.”

I was desperately trying to haul ass out of there and was looking forward to meeting my friends. Oh my friends. How I missed them. It was like being on an episode of Survivor, only it was a restaurant that was bold in Zagat’s and I was wearing patent heels. We couldn’t get the waiters attention for the check.

“I think he is doing me a favor. He sees who I am here with. I think he doing this on purpose so I get more time with you. I think he remembers me,” he said.

I dry heaved in my brain. I know you are thinking it’s not medically possible, but it is. Swear.

The end of dinner couldn’t have come fast enough and when it did, he asked me out for another night. I laughed a nervous laugh and quickly hustled to grab a cab.

“So sorry! Gotta run to my friend’s birthday party!”

I shook his hand goodbye and hopped in the cab the 3 blocks I didn’t want him to walk me.

He texted me the next day.

“Hope you didn’t have too much fun without me at your party.”

He went on to name drop like maniac, how many names can you drop in a text? He informs me he is headed to dinner with the former Chief of Staff to one of the presidents, and he was staying in a beach house lent to him by one of America’s royal families.

I wanted to reply “What type of wine goes well with douchebag?”. But held my fingers.

Adam was not a bad guy. He was a total gentleman and meant well. Just a little too showy for me.
Adam asked me out to dinner again immediately, which I liked. I am a sucker for a man with a plan. However, I did not accept his invitation. Sorry Adam. I did like your note! We will always have that, but sadly not much more.

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7 Comments leave one →
  1. September 27, 2010 7:44 am

    ” I quickly wondered if I could somehow kill myself with a bread stick. “- hilarious! What a great post!

    • September 27, 2010 8:58 am

      Thank you! Btw, it’s apparently NOT possible. At least the ways I tried 😉

  2. October 6, 2010 9:33 pm

    Haha, loved this post. I loved the Countess deLesseps reference too… she is too much! Our society is not that high maintenance and I can’t even begin to learn all the etiquette rules I’m supposed to know! And frankly, I don’t know if I want to know them!

    • October 6, 2010 10:27 pm

      ha! glad people got the reference! No need to know them. Life is too short!

  3. September 7, 2012 6:49 am

    I was so gripped when he sent over the note, I like brave too… but how you managed to sit through that dinner I’ll never know, I’d have climbed out the loo window

    • September 7, 2012 10:08 am

      Thank you so much for reading and thank you for your commenting. Yes, the note was pretty good. I like a note!

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