Waiting for a call

Diterbitkan: Isnin, 1 Disember 2008 12:00 AM

(Ubah saiz teks)

Despite declaring a while back that I would live the second half of my life in a state of perpetual spinsterdom, I recently caved in and agreed to go on yet another blind date.

Now, for the sake of anonymity, I have changed my date’s name from Alonso to Bert. After all, I don’t want to divulge any information about him that might reveal his true identity. Like the fact that he lives in Penang and has bad hair.

Actually that’s quite not true. Bert’s hair isn’t bad. It’s just almost non-existent.

Now, I have nothing against men who have no hair. After all, there are some extremely attractive bald men out there: Bruce Willis, Patrick Stewart and Sir Ben Kingsley, to name a few. Not only are these men comfortable with their baldness, but they’ve also embraced it wholeheartedly and built their personas around it.

That said, there is something a little unnerving about a man who carries his ­receding hairline self-consciously. Indeed, the lack of confidence that a comb-over or a toupee displays is, in my opinion, a definite turn off.

When I first met Bert, the first thing I noticed about him was the way his hair was masterfully styled to conceal as much of his balding head as possible. A man with a comb-over might as well shine a spotlight on his head and say “Hey, look at me! I’m losing my hair and I’m finding it difficult to accept.”

Still, I tried to keep an open mind as Bert and I introduced ourselves in the cozy bar/restaurant that we’d both decided would make a suitable venue for our first date.

After studying the drinks menu for a while, Bert announced that he would have a cocktail. A few minutes later, the bartender plonked a virulent green concoction on the bar in front of Bert. It was one of those foo foo drinks with a name like “Orgasm” or “Purple Passion” or “Lust in a Glass”. Bert’s cocktail also came with a little paper umbrella, a cherry, and a slice of orange clinging to the rim of the glass.

Frankly, I was a little disappointed by Bert’s choice of beverage. My ideal man would never have ordered such a drink. My ideal man would have ordered something like a shot of single malt whiskey on the rocks. Just alcohol and ice in a chunky glass – a real man’s drink. No shaking or stirring. No pretentious decorations. No ridiculous names.

Still, I tried to keep an open mind as Bert began telling me about himself. While he told me about his work, and how expensive everything was these days, I noticed he had a habit of talking with his forefinger pressed against his temple.

This distracted me. All I seemed to focus on was that finger, seemingly stuck to his head. That and the comb-over.

In between sips of his “Orgasm”, Bert continued to tell me how expensive everything was: the cost of his new apartment, the cost of office supplies, the cost of cars …

Frankly, I was a little disappointed that Bert didn’t even own a car. My ideal man would never walk everywhere. He would have a sleek sports car to complement his rugged body. Getting into his car at the end of our date, he would slide into the leather upholstery, start the growling engine, and press his foot hard on the accelerator. He wouldn’t worry about his hair or lack thereof as he sped head-on into the wind.

Still, I tried to keep an open mind as Bert droned on, and on and on about the most tedious, numb-numbing things.

While on a first date, I don’t want to hear about the minutiae that clog your every breathing thought. I want lightness and frivo­lity, a shared sense of humour, and a few ­serious topics (just to see if we’re on the right wave-length).

I won’t bore you with the minutiae of the rest of my date with Bert.

Understandably, I made no attempt to contact Bert after that evening.

However, Bert made no attempt to contact me either. My ego didn’t like that. I mean to say, how could I possibly reject Bert’s unrequited advances if none were forthcoming?

I could only come to one conclusion. Bert had been knocked down by an expensive car shortly after our date, and he presently languishes in a hospital sans memory.

I’m sure he will call as soon as he remembers that evening.

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