Recently I went out with a friend of a friend. He was English. I mean, how bad could he be? Reserve your judgment.
First he calls me up and says, "You know, let's meet at Le Brasserie," which is my favorite restaurant in Tel Aviv. But of course, sigh, I felt bad because it was expensive, and didn't expect my first date to pay for dinner there. So, I offered something more laidback. He said, "Great, let's meet at 9:30."
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9:30 rolls around, I show up, he's late. He finally strolls in in a shirt and Bermudas, clearly not showered. Ugh. He says, "Hi, you know what? This place is out of control, let's go somewhere else." Dating A Foot Fetishist: How To Love The Man Who Loves Your Feet
"OK," I think, "I'll go with the flow." We start to walk, and walk, and walk, passing a couple of decent places. He sees an Aroma (yes, the coffee place) and says, "Hey, let's go here."
In one mighty swoop I've gone from a 5-star restaurant to a junior Starbucks, but for some reason, I hear myself agreeing. Of course, I order coffee and Pellegrino—my medication of choice. Not two minutes after we sit down, my date says, "Are those real or silicone?"
See my mouth fall open. He follows it up with, "Because that set would be perfect for a tattoo."
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