Date 6 - Coffee and Constantine Continues

Mmmm, bread

We postponed our Sunday morning date, so Constantine offered to meet me after his meeting on Monday night. At this point we have progressed to texting, and the medium suits him. He also offered to bring me a loaf of his homemade sourdough bread and though I was already sold on a second date, bread is one of my many weaknesses. I was now quite keen.

Constantine suggested tea or something in a funky neighbourhood near where his meeting was being held. I was passingly familiar with the area, but not confident in the names of any of the tea shops. I checked to see if Constantine had a pre-established preference; he did not. I immediately texted a friend, who gave me some suggestions. We made plans and I was pleased. Plans are good.

Seriously, plans are my Valium

As Monday afternoon stretched out interminably, I decided to double-check what time the local tea shops close on account of my recent luck with things being open (see A Friendly Pho). Well, the place I’d picked closes at 5:00pm on Mondays, my second choice closes at 7:00pm and the third (invariably best) choice was open until 11:00pm. I told Constantine about the change of plans and he thanked me for checking. Probably because he is odd like me, but maybe also because it is bloody cold out and wandering the hip little streets looking for an open tea shop does not make for an ideal date.

I went to a friend’s for dinner. We had spätzle with a three meat bolognaise and parmesan cheese. I kept thinking how good it would be with sourdough bread.

Constantine texted me to let me know his meeting had ended early and he was heading over to the coffee shop. I stayed with my friend awhile before joining him there. It was bloody cold out, and I had to park a few blocks away. I spotted Constantine in the corner almost immediately, though he was wearing a ballcap that could have given me pause. I smiled at him and did an awkward head gesture that was meant to imply that my priority was a hot drink and that I would join him in a few minutes. I waited for my Dublin mist next to a woman who was seated at the bar, talking on her phone. Well, she was mostly listening, and I realized that she was also sobbing uncontrollably and with as much dignity as she could muster in a public place. I looked around for a napkin dispenser, wishing I had some of those lovely soft tissues in my purse (You know the ones that are so great to cry into?). The dispenser gave me 80 tissues, and I thought it was a bit presumptuous to hand her so many, so I kept half of them. She gave me a look of weary, watery surprise when I put them in front of her. I tried to tell her with a momentary look that she had my full sympathy and that I hoped whatever it was worked out. Then I took my tea and twenty napkins and went over to the corner where my date was waiting.

Nope.

No hug this time. We jumped immediately into how his meeting had gone, how my weekend had gone, teaching, book stores, insects (eep), travelling, Philadelphian Cowboys (It’s a thing!?), going to baseball games, WolframAlpha, Indonesia, content over form, and how amazing the world is. I smashed my knuckle into the wall while I was telling him about the time I had no memory. It’s a better story than it sounds, and I’m not sure why it required me to gesture wildly, but it did, and I did, and it hurt like hell.

Way better.

Time passed quickly, our conversation was tangent-ful and insightful and ceaselessly interesting. We talked non-stop until the coffee shop closed.

I offered him a ride home with the mortified caveat that my Errol, my car, is filthy. Constantine immediately recognized the nod to Errol Flynn, which delighted me, and accepted the ride 

The quintessential rogue

gratefully. We made rough plans for another date on Thursday. I dropped him off at home and waited to make sure he got in ok, taking a page out of Dick’s book.

At home, I put my leftover spätzle in the fridge and realized I’d forgotten to ask Constantine about the bread. A mere moment later, Constantine texted me to lament that he had forgotten about the bread and a picture that he had brought for me. I bugged him a bit, but decided that next time would be soon enough.