a night out with john (lyn)

John, whom I haven’t seen since last February, is picking me up at 6:30.  I am 10 pounds lighter than when I last saw him, and have chosen my going-out staple, the black Wolford pencil skirt.  He arrives on time, and we give each other a big hug.  It feels good.

 “So where do you want to go?” he asks.  He remembers that I love lobster and steak and suggests a few restaurants.  We decide on Morton’s, a fabulous midtown steakhouse.  We even find a parking space, so that has to portend a great night ahead.

He takes my hand as we are walking the couple of blocks to the restaurant and comments, “Even your hands feel smaller.”  I can’t believe that’s true but I think it’s cute that he thinks that.  It amuses me how different men and women are about their weights.  If a woman gains three pounds, she agonizes over what to wear and hopes no one will notice.  Men don’t think that way.  “I’ve gained weight since the last time you saw me.  Don’t I look bigger?” John announces shamelessly.  “I’m 230; look, doesn’t my face look rounder?”  At 5’10, I suppose he could loose a little, but he has such a nice style I don’t notice.  He looks the same to me.  Attractive.  Well dressed.  With an open and welcoming face.

The meal is, as expected, wonderful.  The large warm onion bread with butter is soft and scrumptious.  We start with that, and I know I am not going to be paying attention to points, even when I see the astronomical calorie count next to the steaks.  We split a tuna tartare and avocado appetizer.  I get the gigantic medium rare signature cut New York strip (wet-aged) and take home half; it is perfectly prepared.  John lets me chose the vegetable and though I want the creamed spinach, I order the jumbo asparagus with a balsamic glaze because it's only 130 calories, as if that will compensate for the rest of the dinner.  We split the key lime pie for dessert, and I have two of the best Cosmopolitans I’ve ever had.  

But it’s not the food that makes the evening.  Being with John is easy.  There are no pretenses. I am comfortable with him, and can say whatever I want.  I like his good manners.  He is very much a gentleman, and I like that.  He sometimes surprises me with interests I don’t know he has.  Like photography, or the magic of illusions.  Or that he cooks.

I know he will read this, but there is nothing I would want to write and don’t.  I hope we see each other again soon.  Thirteen months between dates is just too long.