To Screw or Not to Screw

herpesvirusAs 2016 was just about to end I was really looking forward to dinner with a gentleman I’d been seeing. I was beginning to think this one had some possibilities. Serious possibilities. We got along well and there was attraction and a good rapport – the elusive chemistry you might say. Having somewhat similar life styles, values and work ethics made it even more comfortable. So after a great meal and a few drinks it was time to find out if we’d be compatible in one last way…

Things were getting very hot and heavy in bed when suddenly everything came to a screeching halt. I looked at his face. I watched as he sat up and leaned his bare back against the headboard. The room was silent until he said,

“I have to tell you something.”

His words echoed against the bare walls. Oh god, it’s never any good when someone says those words. Was I doing something wrong? Did he have a peculiar fetish or need porn to get an erection? Maybe he also suffered from Erectile Dysfunction? Or had recently recovered from Prostate Cancer? My head spun not sure if I wanted to find out.

“I have Herpes.”

“The mouth kind?”

“No, not the mouth kind.”

Why in god’s name did he wait to tell me this when we were both nude in his bed?

parisian-chic-street-style-dress-like-a-french-woman-1“It wasn’t a big deal for my last girlfriend.But you know the french, they’re very relaxed about sex. I honestly thought you’d just say fine let’s use a condom.”

He actually said these words although we were talking about putting a band-aid on a paper cut. My mouth hung open. Stop that I thought. Do not judge him. Appreciate his honesty. Thank god he told me BEFORE anything happned. I was an adult so I wanted to communicate my honest feelings,

“Wow. No one has every told me this before. I’m not sure what to say.”

“I can’t believe you think this is a big deal. Do you realize almost 70%* of the population worldwide have herpes?”

I hadn’t and wasn’t even sure if his facts were true or if he was Donald Trump-ing me.

{NOTE:*His figures were not even close to accurate according to Atlantic Magazine “genital herpes statistics are usually quoted at closer to 25 percent for women – that’s one in four – and 10 percent for men, but most of these people don’t even know they have it.”}

“That may be true but I’d like to remain in the other 30% and not have to have this conversation with my next lover. I have enough problems already.”

“It’s really not a big deal you just have to take a medication…”

“I don’t even take aspirin. I’m not taking any drugs just to sleep with you. Or anyone. No offense.”

“Now you’re making me feel like a leper.”

“A leper? That’s your stuff not mine. If I felt that way I wouldn’t be having this conversation I’d be sound asleep by now.”

1-2“I’ll call my gynecologist on Monday and see what she says. Let’s talk then.” I hoped he
realized I was giving him the boot.

“I thought we’d spend the weekend together brunch, museums, movies…”

“I have to work tomorrow.”

“You didn’t tell me that.” He sounded beyond disappointed.

I hadn’t. Not because I was lying it just didn’t come up.

He called me the next day to see how work went and explained he wasn’t a “needy guy” (his word not mine) he just wanted to get to know me better over the weekend.

I was conflicted. He communicated and was pretty comfirtable with his feelings as far as men go(okay so I’m stereotyping – please forgive me). He was honest to share with me he had herpes. He didn’t have to tell me that. I never would have known. He was a good guy, a generous guy, handsome, a little rough around the edges but dressed in Armani with all the trappings of a successful man.

genital-herpesI agreed to see him Sunday night for a casual bite. Our clothing remained on at all times.

Of course my genitals itched and I was convinced I had already contracted herpes until I heard back from my doctor on Tuesday after the new year. She explained the risks.

In the meantime, he went to his doctor for a full blood work up and tests. Ten days later he claimed he was good to go although he never showed me the results from his doctor. I’m not willing to take a chance.



Breaking Up is Hard to Do!

rest-jumboI’d been ready to break up with this guy for three weeks. He said something dumb, really passive aggressive relating to my intelligence over dinner. I ran to the ladies room and was as sick as a dog. It wasn’t from the Artisanal agnolotti filled with ricotta and Italian pumpkin, in a walnut and butter sauce we shared,the bottle of Sancerre, the Chef’s risotto del giornoor the Bigné filled with hazelnut cream and wild berry sauce. It was my date that was making me ill. My gut was telling me loud and clear this guy was not for

I returned from the lady’s room a good 15 minutes later and said I was very sick and needed to go home. After a dinner like this I’m sure this was not the ending to our evening that he was hoping for!

I knew I needed to break up with him. I consulted with my girlfriend,

“It’s not fair to break it off right before Christmas.”

Her response, “So basically you’re saying you want a gift?”gift-box

“Not at all!” I argued.

“So then you need to do it now, before.”

With time running out I wondered out loud how I should do it; text, email, phone call or the most dreaded – in person.

“Well, since you have a mutual friend and you live in the same neighborhood you potentially could bump into each other again. You need to do it in person.”

In the meantime, I took hours to call him back or ignored his text message. I acted disinterested whenever we spoke. His numerous text messages were filled with even more hearts, smiles and balloons, his voice was as upbeat as usual. He didn’t have a clue. Finally it was the day. I thought about canceling or sending him an email instead. I didn’t. I marched over to his home in the pouring rain each step with more dread.

He was freshly shower in a beautiful pressed shirt and oh so happy to see me after nearly three weeks apart. I felt like a bitch. He was a good guy, a generous guy, a pleaser with a successful company. He wanted to take me away. Why was I letting him go? I reminded myself that he drove me crazy and had an inferiority complex. He poured me wine, he asked if I was hungry and then he practically put me on his lap. Finally it was over.

I called my girlfriend on the walk home.

hostile-takeover-big-fish“It was 90 minutes of hell.”

“You stayed that long?”

I explained that I felt I had to. The guy had been through and awful divorce which came out of left field, he was having issues with his son and his best friend. Things were not good. I wanted to stay and answer his questions about why I was breaking up with him. I did what every woman i know wants, I gave him answers. I even brought him a chocolate muffins from the best pastry shop – a parting gift.


“Did he cry?”

“I saw him wipe his eye.”

“Was he hamming it up or holding it in.”

“I don’t even know but I ventured to guess he was crushed. It always hurts when it’s a surprise.”

As I was finally done and extracting myself from his couch he asked, 

“Do you find me attractive?”

What was I going to say no when I was breaking up with him? Truth be told he was tall, dark and handsome and went to the gym every day – not an ounce of body fat. So i said, Yes, of course. And then 0008-Sony-Artisans-of-Imageryhe leaned in for a kiss and asked,“So could we still see each other?”I kissed him on the lips and laughed. Not one to give up easily he asked, “Do you want me to walk you home?”

By the time I got home there was a text message from him. UGHHH!!!! The next time I break up with someone I’m sending a letter – not a text message or an email, a real letter with a stamp.




Update: He sent my a very expensive holiday gift from Saks and a large bottle of Bailey’s Irish Cream.

The Return of the Grin Fucker

bad_dayLet’s go back nearly a year to one of the worst dates of my life. No wait, change that, THE WORST DATE OF MY LIFE. EVER. Read about it here so you have a little background. This guy was one sick fuck and I if you read my blog, you know I NEVER speak like that. So I’ll catch you up to speed – I’m minding my own business when I receive an email from a gentleman (I use that word loosely). I immediately recognized his user name as this was his third attempt to see me. After our disastrous brunch date he actually had the nerve to ask me for a second date! When he did I was VERY CLEAR about why I would not date him yet this is the message I got from him today:

He said…

Hi, So, here are some things I think you might want to know about me….. I’m 6′-3″, slim/athletic and all my pics were taken in the last 12 months. I grew up in England. Moved to New York 20 years ago. I live on the Upper East Side and my office is in midtown Manhattan. I travel a lot….especially to Europe. I particularly adore Italy, skiing in Austria and the beaches of the Bahamas and the Caribbean….especially Barbados. I have two great kids, both just graduated from college. I’m fit, masculine, sporty, self-confident and witty. Hopefully I told you all the important stuff…….but I’m a guy……so how would I ever know what women really, really want to hear? -M

So does this jackass forget we had a date OR does he think I’m so forgetful that I wouldn’t remember him – a snobby, six foot three giant Brit on a bike?Mr-One-Percent-Riding-Through-the-City--94137

I said…

Hi, So, here are some things about YOU that you might want to know….. We met some time ago. I know you grew up in England and moved to New York 20 years ago. You told me that over a horrible brunch as you told me many other things such as you have two great kids, both just graduated from college – one the “fuck up” and the other the “grin fucker”. How could I EVER forget a father that speaks that way about his children. You most certainly told ME all the important stuff in that awful meeting. So now you know what this woman really, really thinks.

I cleverly used his own format to respond.


He said…

Sounds like I was having a bad day, so you should give me a chance to show you what a kind and loving man I really am. OK? -M


I have to say, as much as I can’t stand this angry and miserable excuse of a man, I’m almost tempted to go out with him to see how he would behave. It’s that same sort of obsession of have with that crazy bastard Donald Trump. Like a train wreck waiting to happen, for the mere entertainment value. Decisions, decisions…


Big Wig

trumphair27n-6-webI peered into the large glass front restaurant and knew it was him. He stood there, posed, one leg up on the bottom rung of the bar stool, looking confidently toward the front door. Even from twenty yards away I could tell something was off. What was going on with his hair? I approached suspiciously. He caught my eye and immediately turned on his heels kissing me on both cheeks. He was very animated and his skin tight and bright – heathy eating or Dermabrasion, I wondered. As he chatted away asking what I’d like to drink my eyes went back to his hair – full and dark brown – not a gray hair in site and no variation in color, a thick helmet of hair. Surely it was a wig. Not just a wig but one of the worst wigs I’ve seen in my life. I was angry with myself for being disappointed. What if he had been ill? Surely, I could forgive a wig.toupees64002

As my date downed two ice teas and I sipped half a bottle of San Pellegrino I looked past the wig and focused instead on his crepe-y skin. It was not the skin of a man my age let alone someone a few years younger as he had mentioned. I immediately wondered if he had lied on his dating profile. Pink flag. Hair and age could not be vetted on the telephone. I told myself to see if I liked the guy and then worry about the wig and the fib about his age.

The most interesting part of the date was when he mentioned that he was working with a woman, I’ll call Sandra, I had met decades before. And a woman who I knew had been a high-priced call girl/madam for New York’s elite. These were women who wore only Chanel, Armani and Balenciaga. Their designer handbags only carried a lipstick and a hundred dollar bill which naturally they couldnever break. They dripped in jewelry and tended to travel by chauffered cars way before Uber, Gett and Lyft. Sandra was now a legitimate business owner and living at one of the most prestigious buildings in the city. When I asked how they had met, my date said he knew her a good twenty-five years after that he suddenly became very evasive. Another flag.toupee

Wig or not, I knew that my date wasn’t for me. I looked at my watch and said I had to run. My date seemed disappointed I was skipping out so soon. I kissed both his cheeks and was on my way.

Three days later while on my personal Facebook page a “Friend Suggestion” popped up. I examined the familiar photo. It was my date with the wig! The really surprising thing was his name appeared as Dominic Christiano not Dominic Black. I thought back to our initial phone conversation where he dropped his last name. Something about the way he fit it into the conversation didn’t feel natural. So when I hung up, I did something I normally would not do, I Googled him. I couldn’t find one person with his full name – and oh, yes. I spelled it every which way. In today’s world this was a dark pink flag.

bad_toupeeI left Facebook and googled Dominic Christiano and up popped an awful lot of information about my date! He was actually 17 years older than he had told me! Yes, 17. One – Seven! And they say women take off a year or two! Surely he had had a facelift! That was just the tip of the iceberg. There was also an $70 million-plus judgment against Bad Wig for falsely marketing and devising an “elaborate hoax” for hair-growth products! Initially, I found that extremely funny considering the awful toupee until  I began to realize how many people he had deceived. This guy had lived the life of Riley while hair challenged people had spent thousands of dollars hoping for some hair miracle.

Ladies, and gentlemen, trust your gut and do your research before you get involved. A pink flag will likely become a field of red flags. You surely don’t want to be dating a criminal with or without a wig.


Happy Birthday Larry David


Tomorrow is Larry David’s birthday. I don’t care how old he is. I just love him.

I was invited to the NYC Friar Club for a roast – I think it was for Soupy Sales – he was there in a wheel chair with his nurse. So were Stiller and Meara, the press, many of the old-time Jewish Alps comedians and a room full of more notable people. I had a ball!

I quickly noticed there were virtually no women there, and if they were they were in orthopedic shoes with canes and wigs and yellow teeth. With odds like those every man with a pulse wanted to talk to my friend. I on the other hand was fit and in my prime. I was in my uniform of tight jeans, high heels, low-cut top and push up bra with my long blond hair blown perfectly straight. I was invited back the next week by the Treasurer who took a shining to me. He wasn’t a comedian or an actor, just a music executive with lots of stories about Tommy Motola . I accepted without hesitation. I loved the club. I would live there if I could.

I met the Treasurer upstairs, where he was waiting for me, at one of the smaller bars. The Treasurer was seater with fellow friars but these guys were old school – senior citizen who could make you pee in your pants not the other way around. We had a drink while they told hysterical stories about their careers. I was deep in a story  when I heard someone behind me say,

“Hey, Treasurer. How’s your wife?”

I could feel the Treasurer’s hand on the small of my back but I didn’t care. I listened with rapt attention to the two old comedians do their bit. I loved their stories and could have listened forever. Suddenly, it occurred to me that my date was married and I quickly realized that I was having so much fun that I couldn’t have cared less. I had no interest in him. And then I thought about that voice who delivered those words and their timing. I knew that all too familiar voice. I looked over. It was Larry David and he was gone in a flash heading out of the room and down the elevator.

I could have run out of the room. I could have chased him but I didn’t. Instead I continued listening to the stories of some of the greatest comedians way before Larry David’s time.

I knew that I missed my shot at meeting one of my all time favorite comedians. Chances are this would be my one and only time. Oh, well…

Happy Birthday, Larry, you old COCK BLOCKER. I love you. Call me when you can.

Ciao Bello

AMALFI0815-wineSo I had my date with the handsome foreigner. I loved the club. It was all that I was expecting as far as decor and vibe. A friendlier, more colorful SOHO House. I felt like I was in a cool friends living room at a holiday party.I checked in at the front desk and the hostess was as gorgeous as I knew she would be. My date was a few minutes late but I was made to feel very welcome in the meantime. I watched as he entered the room. I was sitting across the room. He was handsome in a manly way but on the shorter side. (If I sound like I have a problem with short men, I don’t. I have dated many men under 5′-10″ and had long-term relationships with three of them. I just don’t like when people misrepresent things like height and weight. I plan my show accordingly and I’d honestly rather be in a flat or a low heel than stilettos. images-1Flag #1. Ok I get it – men tend to fib/lie about this and women often take a few pounds or years off. Move on and be positive! So what, he was charming, considerate, wearing good nothing, absolutely smart and well-traveled. Things were looking up.

I have no interest in talking about myself since I know everything there is to know about me biographically so I like to listen. Give a man enough rope and they will hang themselves is my motto. I learned of his discomfort as a student at the Sorbonne, his wife and their messy divorce “She thought I had millions more buried somewhere”, not much about his children (usually a sign that there’s a problem or relationship issues). As he blabbed I paid attention. I think thats the most important thing to do on a date – listen and learn! He then spoke of the Zimbabwe model he dated and then came the story of his second marriage. Yet another flag. They were only married “so she would be covered under my medical coverage”. She had “some health issues” which he didn’t go into detail. Nice guy or another red flag? Then he talked about his living circumstances from renting a floor in a run down brownstone in Brooklyn to his subletting a small apartment not in a very desirable area from a colleague. Oh and he brought up money and expenses too often. He never really was clear about his emotional hibernation but he was certainly painting a picture with ups and downs. I like steady and even keeled. Hmmm… Pleasant, polite, considerate but a small cloud was over his head. Would I go on a second date? Maybe I was being too harsh. I could have dinner and see what I thought. We finished up and he helped me with my coat. I heard him mumbled something about the quality of my Max Mara cashmere coat. I ignored it.mood06_ai10_101801-gall

My date gratuitously walked me to a lounge where I was meeting a friend. He gave me a gentle kiss on the lips. Yeah, maybe I would go on a second date. By the time I ordered a drink I had a new message on one of my email accounts. Mind you this is an email account I only use for business – not general business, specifically writing. It is not connected to this blog or anything else. I clicked on the link:

A Promise Kept:
Even if you never saw me again, I would be remiss if I didn’t share the experience of dining at Lo Scoglio in the small town of Nerano.  That’s a seaside village near Sorrento and Capri.  You enter it by boat.  It’s on the coast.  Food is magical and one of the most memorable dining experiences I’ve ever had.  You are literally on the sea itself and the food is amazing.  It’s part of a hotel.
There are two restaurants in the village:  one is a Michelin-starred restaurant where all of the tourists go.  All of the Italians go to Lo Scoglio.  It’s run by a wonderful family (the dog is all over the place) and it’s just wonderful. We tried several dishes, all of which were superb, nothing over-embellished, just simple food made from the best ingredients, cooked really well.  Definitely a place to go with a special person. Ciao bella!
How did he get my email address? Why was he sending restaurant recommendations for the Italian Riviera? I spend more time in Fra4456.Capri-ferrynce, I’m not particularly fond of Italian food and I never expressed any interest in Italy or asked for his advice. I was weirded out. By the time I got home I had a text message and then another and then a phone call from him. So here we have it, expectation to disappointment in less time then the ferry from Sorrento to Capri.
UPDATE: The day after my blog pieces Looking Forward/ Looking Forward 2 posted I received this message from my date – Happy New Year. I hope you weren’t totally freaked out by our meeting at Norwood and had a good time in the Caribbean. I was amused at your characterisation of the build-up to the date, as I had given details of Norwood to assist, certainly not to patronise. If it came across as viewing you as “stupid”, I apologise. And I do prefer “age appropriate women” (my profile actually is 40-55, not 30*, which would be kind of creepy, I agree). Anyway, at least I wasn’t as bad as the cheapskate date, (although perhaps you were indulging in some artistic license there as well?:D )
I never gave him my blog’s name.
*This was an outright lie.

Show Us Your Penis

Here’s a Monday laugh for you! Thanks College Humor.

Valentine’s Day Break Up

white-roses-flowers-25785316-600-375It was our second date. We were siting at the bar in a rather nice restaurant on the water. An older woman came in selling roses. My date stopped her and said he wanted to buy some roses for me. She looked over to me and as142596-143862ked, “Red or White?”

“White, definitely white. I hate red roses.”

“What woman hates red roses?” asked my date.

“Me. I can’t stand them, never could. Long stem red roses are the absolute worst.” My date looked at me as though I were insane and then bought me every white bloom in her basket and handed them to me.

“I still dont understand why you don’t like red roses…”

So I told him the list; they are so typical they are cliché, I don’t like tight buds, I can’t stand long stem roses or the contrived and standard arrangements with baby breath, I’m not fond of the color red, when they dry out the color reminds me of dried blood (I didn’t mention that dried blood makes me think of menstruation and injuries – both painful). I prefer other colors. PERIOD.50_roses

We continued to date. On my birthday I received several flower deliveries, one of which was a huge floral arrangement of long stem red roses with a single white rose in the middle. The card said Happy Birthday. Nothing more. No signature. I had no idea who they were from. At six that night I heard from the guy (I guess I could refer to him as my boyfriend but I never really did) I was seeing. We had plans to have dinner so I figured he was telling me he was running early or late or some such thing.


“Why didn’t you call me?”

“I’m seeing you in a few hours. Why would I call you.”

“To say you got the flowers.”

372_50-Red-and-white-roses-in-glass-vase-MRP-1500_products_large.jpg~c200“Oh, they were from you?” I said almost as a question.

“Of course they were from me.” He sounded annoyed with me.

“I had no idea who they were from. You didn’t sign the card.” What I wanted to say was, I told you on our first date I can’t stand red roses – especially long stem red roses!

“Who else would send you two dozen red roses?”

Christmas came and so did the same flowers. The same arrangement of long stem red roses with a single white rose in the center.

We had our first fight. The next day the long stem red rose arrangement arrived with the single white rose in the center. My girlfriends thought there must be something symbolic here about his love – like yellow roses are for friendship, red for love, white for purity. It must mean our love is pure they said wistfully. Oy, I hate that shit.

And then we celebrated our first Valentine’s Day together. He picked me up in his sports car. As I got in I could see the long white box in the back of the car. More roses – red with a single one no doubt. I was fuming. When he parked the car at the restaurant he leaned over and handed me the box with a stupid grin on his face.

“Happy Valentines Day. I got these for you.”


I looked at him and said,

“Thank you but you should know I cannot stand red roses. I told you that on our first date. It should have been obvious the first time you sent them to me. and then you sent them again and again and again. I’d honestly rather have nothing.”

He grabbed the box back from me, got out of the car, and handed them to the next woman who walked past. I heard him say to the stunned woman,

“Miss, Happy Valentines Day. Apparently my girlfriend doesn’t like long stem red roses. She’d like you to have these.”dead-roses

I had a good chuckle. However, he was not amused.


I broke up with him after dinner. Not because he gave my roses away – I had given every long stem arrangement he had ever given me away – to my housekeeper,  to the doorman for his wife,  to my neighbor and my mother. I broke up with him because he had no idea who I was.


Put One Foot In Front of the Other

images-3Disappointment can be hard. Affairs of the heart can be particulary tough. Especially if you’re dating actively and it’s one disappointment after the next. In 2015 I had 106 dates. In 2016 I’ve already had eleven dates and it’s only February 2nd! (Full disclosure: of the eleven dates I have only had a second date with two – often my choice but sometimes not). Although each of the men I met were kind, interesting and polite, none of them were right for me. I found it discouraging to say the least. As much as I’d rather stay home and write, cook, paint or scroll around of Ebay, I decided it was a new year and a new me. I was not going to let a bad date, a bunch of average guys or a stalker (story coming soon) get me down. That’s when I met Peter.

images-4Peter lives in a tiny seaside community. He is in the fashion business. After a very high-profile and public divorce, he is very much single and alone -kids off at college and he doesnt even have a dog. Peter is clearly a man who likes to be part of a couple. We hit it off the first time we spoke on the phone. He’s a super interesting guy who has lived a bigger life than most of the men I’ve date this year combined. He was fun, comfortable, a breath of fresh air. Maybe sailing and walks on the beach have seeped into his pores. I hope I don’t sound like an overly optomistic woman (becuse I’m not!) but I have a feeling that he could be a great match for me. I certainly don’t want to be likehamptons2_1367233c a friend of mine who is constantly sure each and every man she dates is the perfect man for her. From overweight guys with mommy issues, to alcoholic attorneys to the guy with the lingerie fetish, I never saw anyone with her commitment to dating and her sunny disposition with each new guy. By the time the relationships were over, some in a matter of days and others in weeks or months, they were all asshole, scum or rotten bastards. There was never any grey or uncertainlty for her – it was all or nothing. Part of me feels like some of her is wearing off on me. Maybe if you’ve been in the dating game this long, and late in life, you need to trick your brain into believing the next man could be your next love or god forbid, your soul mate.

I’ve decided not to think about it too much. Enough analyzing myself, Just go out for god’s sake and give it your best shot. I hope I will have a good dating story for you soon. Keep on truckin’!


Finger Licking Good
What is a deal breaker for you? This is what my neighbor and I were discussing over a bottle of wine there other night. I shared with her the details of a recent date at an upscale but casual French restaurant. My date was cute, had a good style about him, funny, smart, well-traveled and a Brit. He made me laugh more than I have in the entire month of January. Generallyshutterstock_26298190 speaking, I could see myself sleeping with this guy- a hot and heavy make out session at the very least. And then just  we were finishing up our meals, I looked over at his plate of quickly disappearing duck and I saw it. In a flash I saw the fingers from his left hand on his plate. They quickly pushed the bits and pieces from his Moroccan Tangine dinner onto his fork. The fork was held not the way it should be but low down on the handle half way between the tip of the tines and the top of the handle. You know, like a young child would hold a fork. I asked my friend how she felt about the fingers on the plate pushing the remnants of his meal on to his fork.

“Fingers on the plate? Nope. No way. Not acceptable.”

“What if you really liked him, he was hot and you thought the sex would be great?”

“Well then, he’d have to be a “stay in” guy not a guy you take out. You can’t take anyone out like that. Imagine if your family saw him eat like that?”

“He’s spent a lot of time in North Africa. Do you think that has anything to do with it?”holding-a-fork2

“He’s in America now. I’m guessing he knows the difference between eating in a hut or at a French restaurant.”

I had to agree with her.

“Did I ever tell you about the time I went on a date and the guy was licking his fingers?”

“No, which guy was it with?” I asked.

I think I told you about him, he had season tickets to the Clippers. We saw the game and went for a late dinner. And then he licked his fingers.”

“What did he have for dinner?”

“How the hell would I remember? He should have used his napkin!”images-2

“Well, I have to say if it were fried chicken or ribs I might have to let it slide.”

I didn’t tell my friend, but if I hear from the guy again. I think I’ll recommend going for Japanese on our next date. Perhaps he’s better with chopsticks…