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Cinco De Mayo

May 5, 2011

Image Via a Facebook group called: The Fruity Drinks for Straight Men Crusade. No, really.

*The following is re-published from one of my entries last year, a re-run if you will, but it is one of my favorites and I had to share it with you today, the 5th of May, in honor of Cinco De Mayo. I’m so sorry Roberto. You are such a sport!

On Cinco De Mayo I had a date with a Mexican. A Mexican Jew. It sounds like a made for blog story, but I assure you it is not.

Roberto was handsome in an intellect kind of way, but more importantly, he was tall. We decided to meet for drinks, coincidentally on Cinco De Mayo.
“We will stay away from any Mexican places” he says.
What fun is dating a Mexican if you don’t get tequila on Cinco De Mayo I think to myself. He tells me Mexican restaurants will be too crazy tonight. I think we may not be a good match.

Roberto walks in a couple of minutes after I do. Is he carrying a murse? I panic.
Phew, it’s a backpack.
He says hello. I like Roberto’s accent. We walk to our table. Roberto is not typically my type, not that I have one, but if I did he would not be it. Roberto has a great smile, which I like.
“What are you having to drink?” He asks.
“I’m just going to have a glass of wine.” I say.
“I’m going to have a fruity drink.” he says.
Not sexy, I think to myself. I wish he would ditch the word fruity.
As I watch Roberto peruse the menu for his fruity beverage, I see it. Glaring at me. Roberto is wearing man jewelry. It is a necklace. With something hanging off of it that is more big than small. Like a car wreck I want to look away but can only stare.
The waiter approaches our table.
“I will have the Pinot Grigio” I say.
“And you sir?” the waiter asks Roberto.
“I want something fruity. I want a fruity drink.”
I cringe. I wonder how many times Roberto can fit the word fruity into a sentence. Apparently a lot. I picture Roberto’s drink to arrive with a ton of umbrellas. Possibly a cabana perched on the top of the glass.
“What is your best fruity drink?” he asks. Twenty seven…I silently count the word fruity.
The waiter suggests a drink with limoncello and 100 of the bars other fruitiest ingredients that may or may not come with skittles and sprinkles on top.
“No, I don’t like that.” Roberto says. He doesn’t smile. In fact he was rude. The waiter must have thought so too because he responded in a huff “Well what do you like sir?”
“Fight fight fight”, I silently chant (In my head).
Roberto tells the waiter he would like a fruity martini. Thirty eight…

While we are waiting for the drinks to arrive I notice Roberto is not talking. At all. He is just sitting back watching me. I squirm. I think Roberto must dislike our date. Maybe I am not fruity enough for him. I ask Roberto about his job. He answers in one sentence. I quickly look through my bag for a set of pliers as I realize this entire conversation will be like pulling teeth. Damn it. I left them at home. Sigh.

An hour into the date I realize Roberto has probably said 120 words, 95 of them being “fruity”.
I tell Roberto that I used to speak Spanish nearly fluently after studying it for years, but I don’t speak it anymore so I have lost it. Roberto tells me I will re-learn it with him and we can speak it together. I wonder what date he is on. I also wonder if I would only learn the word fruity.

I tell Roberto a story about my uncle, to which he responds, “I hope you introduce me to him one day.” Roberto is having fun?? He thinks there will be another date? I have already counted how many tiles were on the floor of the restaurant and played I spy with myself 4 times, all to prevent me from lighting myself on fire with the votive on the table.

Two hours, two drinks and two appetizers later I tell Roberto I really need to get home to the sitter (thank g-d I had a curfew). We walk out of the restaurant, Roberto clutching his murse, I mean backpack.

When we get outside Roberto says, “Promise me I will see you again.” I am confused but smile politely. Roberto seems like a nice guy even though I know next to nothing about him. I can’t understand why he would want to see me again as he just stared at me the whole time and didn’t interact with me whatsoever.

Roberto compliments my necklace. I do not return the compliment about his. In fact, I am wishing it away. I say goodnight and begin to walk away. I am not even down the block when Roberto calls me on my cell phone. I panic. I don’t answer. What did he want to talk about? We had two hours to talk and he didn’t say a word! He doesn’t leave a message but sends a text:

“You looked so sexy walking away from me down the street. I hope I get to see you again.”

I am surprised. Where was this Roberto in the restaurant. I wonder if Roberto is just shy and I am being hard on him. He seemed like a wonderful father. Maybe there was a language barrier? Whatever the case, he didn’t watch reality TV (I have very low standards) or make me laugh.

Mañana is another day I think to myself. Seis De Mayo here I come.

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2 Comments leave one →
  1. May 5, 2011 7:40 pm

    I love every last thing about this post. The fruity count was the tops. I think Roberto was the one. You should have probably heard him discuss kiwis. He seems like a Kiwi guy. The fruit not the New Zealander. Or both.

    • May 6, 2011 12:22 pm

      Thank you so much for reading and I love your feedback. Roberto was a nice guy. For another girl…

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