an infrequent boy friend (lyn)

On my birthday I receive an email from John.  I have it memorized.  It says:

Happy Birthday

John

The last I heard from him was when we went to the Woodstock Museum last November.  We have a slow-moving relationship.  This will be our seventh date in three years.  Here is our 10-step pattern.

1. I call John.  He sounds happy to hear from me.
2. I suggest getting together.  He always says yes, without hesitation.
3. We make a plan. 
4. John is reliable, and always arrives on time.
5. He picks me up (in a car) and we drive to a very nice restaurant. 
6. He is always well-dressed.
7. I usually wear a black skirt, black pants, or jeans.
8. We have a great night.
9. Four or five months later, I call John again. 
10. Return to step two,

John picks me at 6.  Despite a drive in from New Jersey, John arrives precisely on time. He gives me three choices:  Italian, Seafood, or Steak.  I choose steak and we got to Wolfgang’s.

An omen for the good night to come is the parking space on Park Avenue South that John finds directly in front of the restaurant.  We are given a perfect little corner table.  Dinner starts with my ordering a Cosmopolitan and John, a real guy’s-guy, getting a mimosa, which I find funny.  He looks like he’d be getting a more manly drink.  But he likes champagne and I like that he gets what he wants.  The Cosmopolitan I have is so good, I am sure they’ve forgotten the vodka.  Even the second one I order seems to be missing the alcohol, though my speech suggests otherwise.

For starters, we order the lobster cocktail.  It arrives as a main course entrée disguised as an appetizer.  It’s not a small piece of lobster surrounded by lettuce.  No, it’s an entire cold lobster, shelled, with cocktail sauce.  It’d make a perfect meal, but I still have a strip steak (charred on the outside, medium rare inside) coming.  It arrives sliced, and cooked to perfection.  I have only two small slices and take the rest home.  Dessert is a cup of cappuccino and a piece of key lime pie with a gigantic mound of whipped cream (I leave a little of the whipped cream).

The extraordinary dinner matches the ease and fun of the night.  Before saying goodnight, I tell John I am breaking our pattern and next time we get together  I’ll be taking him to theater.  And that will definitely happen in less than four months.