“What do you call two rabbits on a honeymoon,” John asked.
She didn’t know what to say or if she should laugh so she just stared at him while he giggled and snortled over the crab cheese wantons.
“I’m not sure. What?”
“A bunnymoon.”
Felice feigned amusement and told him to eat the rest of the appetizer. She had eaten her fill.
They were on a date, but it wasn’t really supposed to be a date. Felice and John had been friends since high school when he dated her friend and she dated his friend. Now, the two of them found themselves in the same city without their friends and eating Chinese food in the swankiest part of town.
When he called to ask her for dinner it didn’t occur to Felice that it was a date. Realization came over her when he held his suit jacket over her head on the walk from the car to the restaurant saying, “We can’t let the rain spoil your beauty.”
Her suspicions were confirmed when the bottle of wine arrived. He toasted to their evening and as he held up his glass he gently reached for her resting hand and said, “Hopefully this will be the first of many more evenings to come.”
Panic set in. Did she even think he was good looking? Since high school he had lost his hair and grown round in the middle. His bunny joke was cute, but was it funny enough to get her though many more evenings like this?
After the second glass of wine she started to enjoy herself and came around to the idea that she was on a date.
After the third glass she began plotting how she was going to kiss him.
After the fourth glass she was planning their wedding in her head.
The fifth glass ended the meal.
She followed John out of the restaurant and attempted to reach for his hand the same way he’d held hers, but her effort was more of a violent jab at his arm than a gentle caress. He didn’t offer his hand so she decided to pretend the awkward moment wasn’t really happening.
Maybe he didn’t notice.
Walking solo she drunkenly veered off the sidewalk and before she knew it she found herself out of her high heels and sitting in the soggy grass.
Stunned, she just sat there and let the moisture from the lawn slowly make its way through her dress. She laughed once her butt cheeks started to feel cold.
John helped her up and then plucked her sunken shoes from the muddy grass. The left heel didn’t just come out muddy—the heel had punctured an envelope, which was now dangling from the shoe.
After turning it over a few times. the flap came unglued and she could see the top of George Washington’s head.
“It’s cash,” they chimed together.
He counted ten, $20 bills.
“We should buy pot,” she said.
Silence.
“I mean, no we should not buy pot. That’s the absolute last thing we should do and I just wanted to make that clear.”
She laughed at herself once more and began to wonder why her new boyfriend wasn’t laughing at this whole ridiculous scene.
Somewhere between the fifth glass of wine and now she decided that John was, in fact, boyfriend material after all.
“How about we spend $160 and put $40 back for good karma? This way our date doesn’t have to end. We can go shopping now,” she excitedly announced being so pleased with her new plan.
Sensing a good opportunity to kiss him, she accurately grabbed his hand and pulled John close. His eyes squinted back at her and for a fleeting moment she remembered she didn’t like his beady eyes.
That’s when he pulled away.
“I was actually hoping I could have the money to reimburse me for dinner,” he blurted and handed her the shoes.
“This isn’t a date Felice. I just wanted someone to share some crab cheese wantons.”
After some recent experiences of my own I started to think pretty seriously about all the grief that high-maintenance men give their normally patient significant others. Ya know, it’s not fair that women get the bad rap for being high maintenance, especially when it comes to relationships. I think men have a tendency to be just as, if not more, high maintenance.
