I regularly dine at 71, and as I walked in, hating the idea of being late, I noticed the lady who could possibly be my date was stuck outside. It was as if she was being security checked at the airport.
Jean-Luc, the server, knew me well, and when he told me my date had arrived and was outside, I couldn’t believe it. I wasn’t feeling great. No, I was feeling kind of shitty and needed something to eat, but I knew I had to wait for my date before eating anything. It would be impolite to start eating without her.
I wasn’t looking or feeling my best. Normally I wouldn’t wear my work clothes to a date. I needed to go home and shower first. Washing my mouth out in Starbucks earlier with some water didn’t do the trick, and my breath wasn’t smelling great. I wasn’t in the mood for conversation.
