I’ll skip the farewells and welcomes that I alluded to in a previous post and hit you with the good stuff.
There was a date. There was a floor full of unwanted dresses. There was a friend throwing heels at me. There was a boy who was super on time.
There’s been some back and forth banter, shared instagram memes and group invitations to hangs with no real agenda. The “will you go on a date with me?” Was inevitable, how he actually asked… not so much.
In a far off land, full of work presentations and colleague roommates, he would find seconds of time to send me a message here and there. “When I get back from this work trip, we should totally hang and watch Friends.” My response encouraged him to take it one step further, “When I get back from this work trip, would you be keen for hangs and to watch Friends on Friday night?” Again he got a positive answer from me.
When he got back from his work trip, he gave me a call that went something like this, “Hey Jordy, I think watching Friends is a really bad idea, so we’re not going to do that.” Cue the crickets in the background of my unexpected call. Only, he continued, “so I’ll fetch you at 7, wear a dress, see you then, bye!”
Cue the floor full of unwanted dresses and friend throwing heels at me. In the end I went for a short black, long- sleeved dress and borrowed brown boots. I was still applying make up when he arrived at exactly 7:15, just like he said he would. Tough times. I scrambled for purse and lipstick and more perfume.
He finally saw my gate open, and his date walk out of her home, stress in her posture and deep breaths coming from her pursed lips.
He gave me a single white flower and opened the car door for me.
There was awkward small talk on the way there and general confusion as to where we were headed.
We stood in front of a classy restaurant, and he announced to me, “they serve seafood! You said seafood was your favourite right?”
He gingerly put the wine that he had brought on the table, and whispered that he didn’t really know how the whole corkage fee thing worked. The waiter had to explain it to him.
We spent the night munching on calamari in my case, steak in his and talking about family holidays and funny friendship stories. We spoke and ate and sipped coffee until the restaurant was empty and the waiters started locking up.
Unfortunately I needed to leave the province at four the next morning for the long weekend with my family, so my Cinderella story came to an end when he dropped me off right after dinner, ending the night rather abruptly.
My housemates sat waiting for me to return and enrapture them with stories of my romantical evening.
When my friend asked him a few days later how the food was at that particular restaurant, his reply was, “I don’t know, I remember nothing about the food.”
Every Monday night, our digs has house dinner. Sometimes I call it family dinner for lols. We rotate and each get a turn to cook for the house. For me, it’s the one night that I actually eat a real meal… except when I’m the one who is cooking.
Picture a kitchen with a flustered cook, toppings all over the counter, weak arms that can’t effectively roll out dough, flour all over her everything. That’s me.
Stress ball with the sudden realization that she hasn’t bought enough ingredients to satisfy the rumbling tummies around her. Starving eyes keep looking in her direction, even though their mouths are telling her to calm down, it’s going to be fine.
Eventually we’re sitting around three small crunchy pizzas, the kitchen to the right of us looks like a giant sneezed flour all over it. I am not happy with the outcome of my labour.
One housemate is not happy about something else.
Second fun fact about Jordy: I am not good with confrontation. I usually do the healthy thing and bury my feelings and issues way below the surface so that no one knows what I’m unhappy about.
Other housemates don’t do such things, and sometimes let their irritation at another show. From that you get a tense dinner, where everyone is staring at their laps, trying to chew their food as quietly as possible, except… Oh no wait! Jordy cooked, so each slow mouthful of crunchy pizza is more like rocks falling off a mountain.
Yeah… just in case you thought that communal living is all fun and games, you were wrong. We have our moments of true colour showing; like a girl who burns, under- caters, and delivers late food; and housemates who pick their moments to annoy and be annoyed at each other.