Tales of Tiramisu, Grappa and Money

Mario, the head chef at my favorite Italian restaurant, is a personal friend of mine. We go bowling together every Friday and we go overdrinking together on most Saturdays. We have known each other for well over 8 years. So, when Mario called me a couple of days ago to tell me that he met a girl he thought would be perfect for me, I got all excited. Then, when he offered to have a first meeting at his restaurant and for him to cook us “Something Special”, I knew that he was really excited too.

I arrived at the restaurant last night at 8:55, 5 minutes before the 9 o’clock appointment with butterfly in my stomach. I know Mario quite well and he would not have offered to cook us something special unless the girl was something special of her own. I was so excited that I even made a wardrobe effort and wore my best suit (Ok, I confess, Hugo Boss – The only thing I indulge in on the wardrobe side is expensive suits.). I sat with Mario who told me that he even made his world famous Tiramisu tonight. This was definitely going to be a good night

At 9:00 Sharp (wow) she walked into the restaurant. It was difficult not to notice her. She was gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous. Since everyone’s definition of gorgeous is different, I will not describe her. Words would fail me anyway. Just make up your own mental image, then add to it a beautiful, long black dress, matching black shoes and an exquisite little LV bag. She had a beautiful smile on her face and walked briskly to our table with her hand extended, shook my numb hand then turned to Mario and deposited two wonderfully sensual kisses on his cheeks.

She spoke English with a definitive Italian accent, she was gesturing with her hands in this most Italian of ways, she was laughing, she was smiling, she was nice. On top of that, she was also smart, cultured and I am sure by now you can tell that I was deeply taken by her. In fact all I was doing was hoping that I would not make an idiot of myself by dropping some pasta sauce on my suit or twist my tongue when tying to speak, or, in general, make a fool of myself

The evening went quite well. I dare say. I dazzled her with my natural wit, intelligence, culture, charm, sharpness, humor, charisma, appeal, personality, magnetism, allure and self confidence. It was all working like clock work. She was laughing at all my jokes, nodding at all the intelligent points I was making, smiling understandably at all my problems… heaven I tell you; Heaven. I was already thinking about making Mario my honorary brother and including him as the sole beneficiary in my last will and testament.

As the Tiramisu was consumed and as the last drops of Grappa were squeezed out of the bottle and as the evening was coming to a close, she most naturally asked me if I wanted to come over to her place to have a few more drops of a yet un-named nectar that would insure that we would be inhibited enough to fall into each other’s arms and spend the night in passion. OK, OK, she just asked me if I wanted to have a coffee.

Of course, I accepted. We got into her car (Only one car! Always a good sign). We got to her place. We forgot about coffee…

In the morning, I woke up late for work and as I was rushing to get showered and dressed, she asked me to tell Mario that next time it would be the regular rate…

Haroun El Poussah