Date 32 - Friday Night

Laverne and I have been colleagues for three years now, but we have never gone for drinks after work. For one thing, Laverne finishes up her workday a half-hour before I do. Plus, there is usually something happening that she has to rush home for – a hockey game, a dance practice, nephew’s birthday, etc. Well hockey season wrapped up, and I didn’t have volleyball or a dinner date, so we decided to do drinks after work on Friday.

It was a painfully dull Friday afternoon, and the last thirty minutes were interminable. And then suddenly it was five after, and I just had to finish doing this one last thing and then I’d be ready to go. C’est la vie. We were on our way to the restaurant shortly after that.

We chose this particular place because it was in the middle of the road for classiness. There are some total dives nearby, and a few too many yuppier establishments brimming with smart-casually dressed exec-wannabies paying $7 for a domestic pint because it’s Hipster Happy Hour. We decided to go somewhere in between. I texted Giovanni, who was thinking of joining us after the gym.

 



Because a magical spray fishbowl
is a happy fishbowl!

We sat inside, though the patio was open in (foolhardy) anticipation of summertime. There were some people out on the patio being buffeted by wind and enjoying intermittent sunshine. We didn’t bother to wait for Giovanni to order drinks and food. Laverne ordered a multicoloured, layered slush drink and I got a fishbowl full of rye and cola, because that’s what a Happy Hour should look like.

We mostly gossiped until Giovanni arrived, looking far too composed to have just been at the gym. Our food arrived; Gio got a pint. He and Laverne talked hockey while I inhaled food. There were screens everywhere showing highlights, and a bunch of the patrons were wearing jerseys. Gio pointed out the unspeakably tacky faux pas of wearing golf shorts or dress pants with a hockey jersey. I shrugged. I am still not really sure what’s awful about socks and sandals, so I tend to keep mute when it comes to fashion. We laughed and visited a bit before Gio paid his tab and bid us farewell.

Laverne and I downshifted into office gossip and shop talk, which brought the mood down a bit. Later we realized we ought to have spent our time talking about boys instead. Because, priorities.

Me, waiting glamorously

When it was time for me to go meet Constantine, we said our “goodbyes” and I walked six blocks east to the coffee shop where I’d first met him almost exactly a month ago. I beat him there by almost two full minutes. Aside from the one time that I hosted him at my house, so far I’ve never been earlier than Constantine for any of our dates. It felt like winning. I ordered a London fog and sat down at a nearby table to wait. He arrived and gestured to ask if I’d already ordered. I said yes. I left my purse, coat, toque and mittens scattered across the table and went to retrieve my drink, which was now ready.

Good old coffee date

We fell to chatting about everything and nothing for a few hours. I am not really sure how time works, especially when Constantine is around. He is definitely a wizard of some ilk. He told me about a weird shrimp-mantis creature that can hit so hard that it sends a shockwave through the water that produces a crazy amount of heat. We also talked about colours and how there is a way to give a person the ability to see a whole range of colours, including infrared, but the studies cannot get approval for human testing. I was picking up the pieces of my blown mind when a guy walked by with a Thai takeout bag. I made a comment about how I was now craving masaman curry. Constantine decided we both needed curry.

We walked a few doors up the street to where we had our third (and sixth) date and ordered curry. We ate and visited until it closed. We said our goodbyes on the street. Constantine hugged me, and lingered for a few moments. So I told him the story of one of the stupidest things I have ever done (it involved a typhoon and a precarious rooftop). Then I decided it was probably time to walk home. Constantine blew me a kiss and I waved spastically.

As I walked home, we continued to text, trying to figure out from the behaviour of people we passed on our separate walks as to whether the local hockey team had won the game. It was oddly hard to tell (they had won). We also made plans to see each other again the next day, at a reasonably early hour (noon). I walked up the hill, through the ritzier neighbourhood, to avoid the drunks and noise on the boulevard. I promptly took a wrong turn and got lost.

Ok, so I probably looked
marginally less graceful than this

Kevin called me, and we visited while I wandered. When I read a street sign out loud, he recognized it and told me where to go. I’d somehow managed to stray 15 blocks too far south. Idiot. I rolled my ankle in my heels and managed not to spew profanity into the phone (because I’m a classy classy lady), but eventually made it home ok. When the conversation with Kevin had run its course, I hung up and found a text from Constantine that said “Sorry I’m super awkward and shy around you.”

Obviously I was able to just read that once and sleep peacefully and not overthink it or worry or feel conflicted about it. Just a normal adult reading a text message, understanding its meaning and being totally comfortable. Absolutely. Yup. Look at me go.

And this chart shows the relative import of text message
and the amount of time Emily dwells upon it