#TalkNerdyToMeLover's Michele Mene
London can be quite crazy. I have to get away from it every once in a while. I went with some friends down to Richmond over the weekend, which was quite nice. Have you ever been? Also, what do you think about possibly meeting up for dinner soon? I know a couple of restaurants that could be somewhere between your uni and my work - Gentleman
No, I’ve never been to Richmond. I stayed with my parents down in Woking for a summer which was quite nice. I think Surrey is a really beautiful area. Yeah, dinner would be fun. I can’t really do anything this week because I have a lot of work for uni, but maybe sometime next week? I could meet up on Wednesday or Thursday - Tex
That actually works out really well for me too since we have a client coming in this week for work. What do you think about Wednesday at 6:30? I know a nice tapas restaurant on Charlotte Street we could go to - Gentleman
Yeah, Wednesday at 6:30 sounds great. I’m going to need a drink after turning in my coursework. Good luck in the meetings with your clients. I’m sure they will go really well - Tex
The gentleman seemed like a fair prospect. He had a bit of a Bingley quality in his gregarious address, which made him quite desirable. In truth, the gentleman provided a quite pleasant distraction from the stress of my coursework, which was to be due soon. Everyone on my course was quite certain it was the worst coursework ever. Even worse than the previous worst coursework ever, which was turned in a month earlier. Such anxiety was hard not to inhale when surrounded by stressed individuals on a constant basis.
The prospect of how our written correspondence would translate to verbal discourse was quite exhilarating. Though, we did seem a bit different. There was some fear his age of five and thirty, and mine of four and twenty, would limit our conversation when there was less time to edit our responses. Much of the gentleman’s written correspondence required references as he spoke of art shows and work, while mine concerned the common realm of university and football. However, there were sure to be many more topics to discuss at length when conversing with an amiable Bingley. It is a simple literary truth.
Such Jane Austen truths continued with a discussion of the possible suitor with my confidants, Norway and Cairo, over lunch. Norway, Cairo and myself had formed a bond as the three foreign students in the program. We understood the homesickness, and the lost feeling which would randomly overcome us by being in London, thus providing a nice source of empathy that lacked sympathy for our plights.
However, this lunch conversation was not to be clouded by our London woes. No lady has time to think of such things when there is a new gentleman prospect to discuss at length.
“Where are you two going to meet?” Cairo asked with a Cheshire smile while moving her food around in a plastic container with her fork.
“I’m not sure yet. We think somewhere on Charlotte Street because it is between the two of us,” I shrugged while folding my softened crisp bread in half to break it.
In truth, the decision on where we were to meet was placed entirely upon the gentleman since my knowledge of such things was quite limited.
“We could be in the restaurant!” Norway gushed, making me blush at the thought while picking up a carrot.
“Yeah, we could sit down a couple of tables away just to see what he is like. He could be a psycho,” Cairo concurred while sharing a smile with Norway.
They were right. There was always a possibility for a gentleman to seem quite sane before transitioning quite quickly to Mr Collins. The gentleman did seem quite verbose at times in our correspondence. Mr Collins unnervingly shares the same characteristic.
No, Tex don’t talk yourself out of something before it even exists. He will be sane. He totally will be awesomely and completely sane.
There are some matters in life where my wishes may actually prevail, if the Lord wills it. It was best to prepare for Bingley. There would be another time for dreary thought to be washed away by the constant London rain.
“Y’all,” I laughed. “I’d feel completely awkward with y’all in the restaurant, staring at me from a couple of tables away.”
“Okay, we will be across the street,” Cairo responded, as Norway nodded.
“I can use my spy skills,” Norway whispered, making me laugh.
“What? You are going to try reading our lips like we are in the phonetics lab?” I inquired with a raised eyebrow.
“Yep, and you will never even know we were there,” Norway eerily responded, while the boisterous laughter of Cairo and myself began to echo in the hall.
Oh my gosh, what if they come to my date and think the guy isn’t cute? Oh my gosh, or they think I’m acting all desperate by sitting too close or something. I’d never hear the end of it.
“Yeah, I don’t think that’d be such a good idea,” I said with a scrunched nose followed by a smile.
“Fine,” Cairo sighed before the subject transitioned to university matters.
University continued to preoccupy everyone within the course. The stress, combined with the amount of work, left persons barely able to speak to one another in anything other than a robotic manner, meaning there was little worry of Cairo or Norway wishing to observe my date. In fact, my acquaintances were so preoccupied with university that there was no one to help prepare for the affair. It would not do to be without some validation upon my wardrobe choice. After all, the Bennet sisters had one another to consult in the matter of the extent to which a dress could be considered flattering. Thus, it became the duty of acquaintances in Texas to provide guidance upon proper attire, makeup, and hair. All the things which are vital to any lasting courtship. As aesthetics provide the cornerstone for any lasting relationship. It has been proven literary truth with the concept of love at first sight.
After a series of video conversations consisting of modeling possible outfits, a navy wrap-dress was chosen. The dress was flattering while being able to transition quite easily from day to evening, with the changing of footwear from flats to heels. Thus, heels were packed into my bag along with a makeup bag and my completed coursework. It was deemed best to use a bag instead of a backpack for the occasion, as it was best to look as mature as possible when going on a date with a five and thirty year-old man. The resulting numbness felt in my arm while carrying the oversized bag was simply secondary to aesthetics when the prospect of scrutiny loomed.
To improve possible success of being found suitable when under scrutiny, my hair was left down while my bust was highlighted with a push-up bra. It was best to accent the gifts granted ten years before by God. The preparations seemed adequate, as my friend A-Wil was quick to complement my change in demeanor by writing upon the lecture notes we were dutifully not following near the back of the lecture hall.
You look pretty today :)
Thanks, I have date after lectures today
Really? With who?
This guy I met online
Where are you meeting?
At a tapas bar on Charlotte Street
A-Wil’s hand flattened on the table as she teased me slightly with a knowing look, before hurriedly scribbling upon my notes.
Fancy ;)
Yeah, it is in between his work and school
What does he do?
He’s an engineer
Nice
How old is he?
35
Want to see the shoes I’m going to wear?
YES!!!
“Those are so cute,” A-Wil whispered, causing the gentleman in front of us to glance over his shoulder at us.
“Thanks,” I whispered with a smile, while placing the heel back inside my bag.
“Like you see you both are working,” he quipped, making me stick my tongue out at him slightly.
“I was showing A-Wil my shoes for a date tonight,” I whispered back.
“Oh, couldn’t wait for the break?” he smirked.
“Well, at least we are awake,” I shrugged. “BT is sleeping again.”
A small glance was shared between A-Wil and myself before her hand met paper.
Are you excited?
Nervous
What time is your date?
6:30
Are you coming for a drink after Linguistics?
Of course! There isn’t time to go home. Are you?
Yes
Want to get a diet soda during break?
Yes!
The rest of the day passed with the same lack of enthusiasm for lectures while trying to retain some semblance of humanity. Unfortunately, the last time such lazy characteristics were displayed, an essay was failed, which resulted in failure of the class. In order to rectify the situation, the essay would have to be resubmitted over the summer. The addition of such stresses was looked upon with keen anticipation, like running through a field of poison ivy when naked, or being belittled by Lady Catherine de Bourgh. It was quickly decided the only healthy option was to ignore negative realities until they could not be avoided.
Instead of fearing possible failure, requiring me to leave the course, my mind became more amiably preoccupied with pertinent issues such as friendly gossip, online dating, and football. Well, that is until the misfortune of my bag breaking.
Holy excrement, I can’t go on my first internet date with a broken bag. I’ll look all cute with my dress, heels, push-up bra, makeup, shoot I need to go do that, and then the guy is going to look at my broken purse and think I’m a hobo and throw twenty pence at me or something. Totally not cool. Okay, time to plan. I’ll do my makeup, then go buy a new bag, and then go have a drink with my course friends before the date.
The new plan was dutifully followed. However, unfortunately, arriving so late to drinks meant there were no seats available near closer acquaintances. Instead, the only seat available was near the boob-staring Mr Collins of our course. To be fair, he is a very amiable gentleman who just has a small, improper habit of staring at a lady’s bust when she turns away for too long. On reflection, it is possible that leaning forward to slip on my heels before leaving only exacerbated the issue. However, such a happening also proves a push-up bra can be a very good investment.
The fifteen minute walk passed quite swiftly as my heels clicked along the central London sidewalks. However, a few extra minutes were needed to find the restaurant, since it was actually a little off Charlotte Street and underground. Luckily, the sign was well lit. Unfortunately, my mobile reception did not seem to be granted the same fortune, as it became non-existent after a few steps into the restaurant.
A receptionist greeted me at the bottom of the stairs. Her all-black attire while inquiring upon a reservation did nothing to calm the nerves that had slowly increased along the journey. In a mixture of nerves and alcohol, a quick glance was spared past her to the tables another level below, looking for my date.
“I’m not exactly sure. I’m supposed to be meeting someone here. He told me to meet him by the bar,” I responded.
“Oh, do you want us to take your bag to put up in the cloak room?” the receptionist asked.
“No, thank you. I will just keep it with me while waiting,” I responded.
There was no way my things were going into the hands of this stranger. Money was spent on this new bag, it must be shown. Further, she might charge. After all, London would charge someone to sneeze if it could. There was no way money would be spent on putting a jacket and purse in a closet when it could go towards easing nerves through alcohol.
“Well, you can wait at the bar around the corner if you like,” the receptionist suggested, after a few moments of awkward silence.
“Oh, thank you,” I smiled, quickly walking to the bar after sparing the tables below another unsuccessful glance.
On turning the corner to the bar, an empty table to the left was quickly occupied.
“Can I get you something to drink?” the waiter with a slight Spanish accent asked.
My eyes looked up at him in slight shock before picking up the menu.
“Oh, uhm, yeah. Can I have a glass of your house white?” I smiled.
“Yes, you can,” he smiled in return, before walking to the bar.
Within moments, the waiter returned with my glass of wine. The distraction was quite welcome since there was still little sign of my date. My wine continued to slowly be sipped while observing the entrance to the bar. The minutes seemed to pass quite tediously while waiting for my date, allowing a slow tension to build into my shoulders as my hands looked for anything to become preoccupied with.
Wait, why is my waiter staring and smiling at me while talking to the bartender? Tex, just simply read over the menu some more. Oh look, they have many types of red wine. This is boring. Did my mobile get any bars? Nope, still useless. Maybe my date is at one of those tables. Oh gosh, the waiter is still staring. Back to the menu. Oh look, they have five types of beer.
Londoners have a rude habit of staring. In truth, whenever being stared at while walking around London, my first instinct is to think the zipper on my jeans is down. This poses quite a problem since subtly checking such things is a very difficult accomplishment when not wishing to look perverted. However, the current situation with my waiter staring certainly had nothing to do with jeans.
Maybe it’s my boobs. My push-up bra seems to be quite good. Shoot, where is my date? Is the waiter still – yep, continuing to stare. Well, cute waiter continuing to stare. This second glass of wine is good. Where is my date? Oh my gosh, how do I explain to my friends he stood me up? They saw I wore heels and actually did my makeup! Okay Tex, time to think-
“You know,” the waiter’s Spanish accent interrupted my thoughts, causing my shocked gaze to meet his smiling eyes. “If I was not working right now, I’d come and sit with you.”
“Oh,” I blushed. “That is sweet. I am actually waiting for a date. He hasn’t shown up yet. He told me to meet him at the bar-”
“Oh, did you check the lower bar?” the waiter questioned.
“There is a lower bar?” I asked.
“Yes, you can just go down these stairs here,” he stated, pointing to the stairs I was too silly to notice a few moments before.
“Oh my gosh, thank you. Can I get the check?” I asked.
“Yes, of course. Just a moment,” he said before walking away.
My nerves were in the process of being squashed while paying for my glass of wine.
“Thank you again,” I smiled.
“If your date goes badly, come find me,” he winked.
“I’m going to see if I can find him now,” I laughed, picking up my things before teetering my way to the bar below.
My only reaction was to smile when my gaze met my date’s, as he sat nervously at the other end of the lower bar. His face instantly relaxed as he stood to give me a quick customary kiss on the cheek.
“Sorry, I was sitting at the bar up above. I didn’t know there was one even down here,” I apologized.
“Oh, I didn’t even know there was a bar up there. How are you?” he laughed.
“Good, happy to have my assignment in. How are you?” I asked while sitting on the stool at the bar and dropping my bag on the floor.
“Good,” he responded while glancing at the thud my bag made with a little shock. “So, have you ever had tapas before?”
“No,” I responded while pushing a piece of hair behind my ear.
He simply nodded his head while we opened our menus.
“So, the idea is to pick a variety of different items,” my date began to explain.
My head simply nodded as my slightly tipsy brain began to fuzz and crackle at the prospect of more knowledge. Apparently, my mind wanted a break after completing coursework, two glasses of wine, and a walk in four-inch heels. The latter requiring vast amounts of mental capacity after commencing the second glass of wine.
Yay! He passed the heels test. There will now be no fear of looking like a mammoth monster or something standing beside him. Wait, maybe it’d be more like a Texsasaurus or something. I wonder if there is really a Texasasaurus. What the heck is this writing? It looks like words, but they aren’t readable. Oh my goodness, why did he just go quiet? Does he know these words aren’t readable in my head? Shoot, say something smart.
“Okay,” I finally smiled, hoping he had asked a question.
“Are you a picky eater?” my date ventured with a smile.
“No, not at all,” I smiled while again trying to decipher if there was anything of preference on the menu.
“Okay, well why don’t I choose some things for us to eat? Unless, you see something you really want to try that is,” he offered politely.
“Oh no, you can decide,” I laughed.
“Also, you should try the Sherry. It is what the Spanish usually drink with tapas and is simply amazing here,” my date smiled.
Oh goodness, more alcohol?
“I have never had it before, but I’ll try it,” I smiled in return before he made the order.
Nice hair. Beautiful eyes. Good arms. Shoot, didn’t see his butt. Oh my gosh, his tie. There are mice chasing cheese on his tie. Did he pick this tie? Is this a joke? Does he like jokes?
This gentleman, Mice & Cheese, mixed with alcohol seemed to bring forth the vain and judgmental personality which defined Miss Bingley’s personality so well. To be fair, it could be worse. In God’s infinite humor, He could have had Mice & Cheese order cheese to eat while professing a proficiency in burrowing and believing felines were his adversary. Either way, it seemed quite possible a broken bag would not have been so terrible a fashion statement.
No matter his Mr Collins’s tie, Mice & Cheese still presented a gregarious Mr Bingley manner. For the rest of the evening, we sat at the corner of the bar talking about our lives. It was the usual first date where there is plenty of superficial conversation to be had concerning siblings, areas where we grew up, and our feelings towards the constant liveliness of London. The conversation was accompanied quite nicely with the food and sherry.
“Are you done with that?” the bartender asked while motioning to my sherry, as he took away our plates.
“Oh, uhm,” I quickly took the sherry like a shot, causing Mice & Cheese to stare at me in shock.
Shoot, he said something about sipping sherry earlier. Totally messed that up. Wait, wait, Tex, there is a possibility he simply saw his tie in the mirror behind the bar finally. I need to stop being so mean. Texasaurus drunk roar. Oh goodness, don’t giggle, or he may think we be drunk.
“Do you want to get dessert?” Mice & Cheese asked.
“Oh no, I am full,” I smiled.
“How about a coffee?” he ventured.
“A tea would be nice,” I shrugged in my usual assertive manner.
“Okay,” Mice & Cheese said, waving for the bartender again.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked.
“Yes, we would like a-” Mice & Cheese paused, looking at me.
“A peppermint tea,” I smiled.
“Yes, a peppermint tea and a cappuccino please,” he ordered.
“Right away sir,” the bartender smiled before walking away.
In truth, it is hard to remember the line of conversation as we discussed such mundane things, which seemed engrossing at the time. It was not long until Mice & Cheese was putting his signature on paper, and my body was bent forward gathering my bag. On looking up, it was hard not to smirk at catching his eyes quickly dart away.
Hmm, guess my push-up bra did its job tonight. Shoot, these heels aren’t too bad. I could totally go dancing right now.
“So, which way are you headed?” Mice & Cheese asked, as he led me towards the receptionist up the stairs.
“Towards Euston,” I smiled, as we weaved through the small tables with his hand softly on the small of my back.
“Oh okay, well, my bike is right near Tottenham Court Road if you want to walk that far together?” he suggested.
“Yeah, that sounds good,” I shrugged.
“Okay, just let me get my things from the receptionist. It will only take a moment,” Mice & Cheese rushed before speaking with the lady receptionist.
In moments, Mice & Cheese was given his bag, helmet, and reflective gear. It would be quite simple to let my Miss Bingley personality judge and sarcastically jab at a five and thirty year-old gentleman wearing a mice and cheese tie who rode a bike with a helmet. However, unlike wearing a tie decorated with mice and cheese, it was quite common for gentlemen to ride bikes in London. The mode of transportation was not simply one for fifteen year-olds who lacked the ability to drive a car. Well, in truth, it functioned slightly the same, as taxis, buses, and the tube can become quite expensive. None of these modes were particularly of my liking. In true Elizabeth Bennet fashion, joy was found in walking, no matter the disdain others may find in it. Maybe it had something do with enjoying having control over my life. However, such thoughts become droll since they waste too much intellectual prowess on reflection. Instead, the time could be better used for more important matters, such as deciding if a purse in a shop window was cute or not.
“Watch out,” Mice & Cheese stated, grabbing onto my arm to stop me from walking in front of an oncoming taxi.
“Oh whoops,” I smiled. “I guess that would hurt a lot more than the bike I almost walked into the other week.”
“Yeah,” Mice & Cheese agreed while assessing me warily.
Oh Lord, he thinks I’m an idiot. Maybe I should hold up his tie in defense, to show that we aren’t that different.
“I have a tendency to walk like a Houston driver. We all think we own the road,” I joked.
“So, I guess you get in a lot of accidents then?” he asked.
“Weirdly none of them were my fault,” I shrugged, as he assessed my person. “I would get hit by other cars. I did have a tendency to hit a lot of curbs and poles though.”
“Really?” Mice & Cheese laughed.
“Yeah, oh well. I guess I’m just one of those accident-prone people,” I smiled as we stopped near a bike rack.
“Hey, can you hold this for a second?” Mice & Cheese asked, holding out his backpack.
“Yeah, sure,” I smiled, as he put on his helmet and reflective gear, before handing it back to him. “Well, it was nice meeting you.”
“Yeah, we should do this again sometime,” Mice & Cheese said as we hugged goodbye.
“Yeah, that’d be fun. Have a safe trip home,” I smiled.
“You too,” he smiled, before I nodded and turned to walk away.
My heels quickly clicked away as my head did not dare turn back. In truth, my mood was quite happy due to the alcohol-induced euphoria of the postdate. This euphoria led to the quick decision to display British politeness through a nice text to Mice & Cheese to show gratitude for dinner.
Hey! Thank you so much for dinner. It was nice to meet you -
Oh shoot, do I sign it with the typical British ‘xxx‘ or my American ‘:)’? Eh, not that British yet. I’ve got to keep some sort of hold onto my Texan. Plus, there is no telling how many x’s would be considered improper. Stupid theories on the number of x’s reflecting how much a girl likes a guy. Did anyone hear me just giggle aloud? Nope. Okay, just send with a smiley face and be done with it.
The sent text message caused a smile to accompany the sudden need to urinate while walking down the street near Euston Train Station.
Shoot. Okay, so there is option one of paying twenty pence to urinate in the train station. That doesn’t seem very socialist. Maybe I could run home, that is always a good second option. No, I’m way too far from Kentish Town. Plus, I’m in a dress and heels. There is always option three of going into a restaurant and urinating there. I’d still have to pay for a drink or something. That would be more expensive than option one. Then, of course, there would be option four of urinating on myself. That’d be totally embarrassing. Definitely option one. Time to detour and urinate in Euston. Gosh I hope I have twenty pence. Oh my gosh I've got to urinate!
The walk home was quite enjoyable while walking from the Euston Train Station past the place of ill repute where ladies undress. It was only a few stores down from the transvestite store with pictorial proof upon their windows. Sadly, while walking home, the pictures were unable to be seen, leaving the prospect of further diversion wanting. Fortunately, there was always amusement found in composing correspondences to acquaintances, especially if such messages concerned gentlemen. However, such musings were quickly interrupted.
Hey! It was no problem. I enjoyed meeting you as well. Hopefully, we will be able to get together soon xx- Mice & Cheese
“Oh, two x’s, that’s a good sign,” my friend A-Wil smiled, before handing my mobile back the next day.
“I’m so jealous you are actually going to have this grown man while I’m still single,” my friend LZ sighed while my laughter escape on instinct.
Such comments cause a lady’s thoughts to jump quite quickly from date to relationship to diamond rings with white dresses. It was hard to ignore such Jane Austen truths. Though, best to consciously avoid them.
“I don’t have anyone. We just went on one date,” I blushed.
“Have you texted him since?” LZ asked.
“No, I don’t want to seem too eager,” I shrugged.
“That’s true,” LZ agreed.
“I won’t be considered rude, will I?” I asked.
LZ and A-Wil glanced to one another.
“No, why?” A-Wil laughed.
“Well, I’m never quite sure what is okay and what isn’t,” I laughed. “I feel like I’m still learning about y’all’s culture.”
“Oh, that makes sense. Well, we can help you compose the message on Monday if you want,” LZ offered with a smile.
“No, no, I’ll do it on my own,” I blushed, feeling an uncomfortable tension build from within.
Letting others so closely into a relationship before it even became anything could be quite troublesome. Thus, the following Monday, a message was composed of my own accord and without any birdies upon my shoulder.
Hey! How was your weekend? - Tex
Within moments my mobile buzzed, prompting a smile to blossom.
Weekend was good. I don’t think we should see each other again. I didn’t realize 10 years would be such a huge age gap. After a long talk with my sister, I decided it wouldn’t be a good decision to continue dating. I wish you all the best. - Mice & Cheese
Wow, that was kind of big for a guy wearing a tie with mice and cheese on it. It does kind of make sense he would make a decision with his sister. Wait, that is beyond weird. He actually talked about me with his sister.
My mobile buzzed again.
If you have an older identical twin sister, or fall through a warp hole which makes you older, let me know. - Mice & Cheese
The blankness from my initial shock was replaced by indignation. It was one thing to be a weird Mr Collins, or a Mr Bingley who could only make decisions approved by family or friends. However, to place my entire value upon aesthetics was beyond demeaning. In truth, it was quite hypocritical to call a drunk lady immature while wearing a tie with mice and cheese on it and speaking of warp holes.
Oh okay, it’s no problem. Good luck with everything :) - Tex
Yeah, you too - Mice & Cheese
We never spoke again.
In truth, maybe there was some perverse compliment to be found in being called an immature pretty lady. A character like Lydia from Pride and Prejudice would be cooing for such compliments. However, there was no part of me who aspired to be Lydia. Any part which held any resemblance to Lydia was kept within the shadowy memories of drunken nights that created consciously forgotten mistakes. London was a time to aspire towards showing a more intellectual side, though not as severely awkward as Mary Bennet. This was no time to simply be pretty.
Editors note: The word good-bye should now be replaced with "mice and cheese." Love it!
Wednesday, November 20, 2013 at 11:48AM
We're lambasted with images and projections of love courtesy of pop culture, and Hallmark - but how could anyone even remotely put this feeling into words? Calling anything else love seems like not only a huge mistake, but a diss against this feeling. 
